Hollowed and Hallowed
by Sindie
Summary: The aftermath of the war has left Snape empty and broken. How will hope rebuild him? Through Hermione. Sequel to Where Do I Go From Here?, but can be read on its own. SSHG HBP spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are copyright of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and they were used without permission. However, they were used with consideration and with no intention of making money. This story is simply an appreciative fan's attempt at writing something to contribute to the world of Harry Potter.

Author's Note: This story is SS/HG (Snape/Hermione) and is the sequel to Where Do I Go From Here? While I strongly recommend you read Where Do I Go From Here? first, this story may be read on its own. The prologue is from a one-shot story I wrote called Spinning Heartstrings. HBP spoilers.

Rated PG-13

Hollowed and Hallowed

By Sindie

Prologue

_June 1997_

A blur covered her vision. Rain pelted mercilessly on the old window panes, intensifying one lonely girl's pain. Outside, the sky was crying, and she was weeping into her pillow and sobbing uncontrollably inside, feeling as if her heart might crack in half.

She wiped at her eyes, hoping no one would see her like this. Not even completely sure why she was crying anymore, Hermione went to the vanity to retrieve a handkerchief and compose herself. Staring at her reflection, she realized how vulnerable she appeared. Her eyes were rimmed with redness, and the skin had taken on a puffy, wet look around them, which made her think she was five years old again.

Withdrawing from the vanity, Hermione went to the window and gazed down upon the grounds. Tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would take everyone home, and she wondered if she would ever see Hogwarts again. Tragedy loomed all around her now, filling the hearts of all those who lived in the school. She knew that somewhere down on those murky grounds lay a white tomb, the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore.

With his funeral, so much more had been buried. Hermione was finding reality to be a very disagreeable companion at the present moment, for she felt drained of her strong will, determination, and courage - all the things that had defined her as a Gryffindor. What did she have to say for herself now?

Harry was just as much as a mess, no matter how much he tried to be strong. Hermione could tell just by looking in his eyes that a fierce determination burned within him - a determination to finish what Dumbledore had started.

But there was also something about Harry that scared Hermione. Earlier that day when she had told him about the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, Harry's hatred for Snape had been etched in every glint caught from his glaring eyes and in every harsh word spoken from his twisted mouth.

"Evil is a strong word," she had told him when Harry had compared Snape to Voldemort.

_But all this time... it just can't be,_ Hermione thought. Her mind was still churning with ideas for some sort of explanation. Dumbledore would never have pleaded to have his life spared, she reasoned. _I always admired you, Snape, and you had to - you know._

Once again, Hermione felt the onset of tears. She tried holding them back, but such was a pointless endeavor. Unable to believe that she was crying _for_ Snape, Hermione let the tears fall. In spite of her warnings to Harry about the Half-Blood Prince's book, she couldn't bring herself to think ill of her ex-professor. All those years she had defended Snape time and again, insisting that he was on their side, that Dumbledore trusted him.

"If we couldn't trust Dumbledore, then who could we trust?" she quietly asked herself.

Refusing to believe Dumbledore's judgment could have been so clouded, that he could have been so foolish to have been tricked by Snape all those years, Hermione sought an explanation as to why Snape had killed Dumbledore. She barely knew Snape, despite having been in the same castle as him for six years, but she did know that he was a complex man with many secrets. From an academic standpoint, she admired him for his intellect and brilliance. More importantly though, she admired him for his bravery and loyalty to the Order -or so she thought she had. She had considered him a man of high moral standing, despite his dark past, and to have all that shattered in one act of treachery was a stab in the heart for Hermione.

_But he could have killed Luna and me when we went to get him._

Hermione had not considered this until now. Everyone, including her, had been so shocked and saddened by Dumbledore's death that they had little energy to focus on anything else, but now that Dumbledore was buried, some closure tried to creep into existence, but the vast irony of said closure was that it opened a whole other realm of questions and confusion.

_Come to think of it, he could have killed Harry. Why didn't he?_

Determined that there was definitely something more - much more - to this mystery, Hermione welcomed the tears. She reflected on the instant in which Luna and she had retrieved Snape from his rooms. She remembered the look on his face - a strange glint in his eyes that had been quite unsettling. He had tried to mask his feelings as usual by keeping a seemingly indifferent countenance, but Hermione realized now that she had seen right through it. Snape had had the look of a lost and scared child. His eyes had held fear and had been silently pleading with Luna and her to attend Flitwick, to get out of the way, to simply let him do what he must - the utterly inevitable.

Going to her bed, Hermione pulled the covers over herself, more confused than ever by her reaction. She feared Harry's reaction to her conclusions, but as she drifted asleep, her thoughts were of a dark man with a heart that beat just like hers. Her heart went out to Snape.

x x x x x

But back at Snape's squalid abode, he felt as if he had ripped his heart out - if not long ago, then just the other day. Spinner's End was the appropriate place for one such as him, where he might nurse his poisoned thoughts over a bottle of wit's end.

Everything was truly in ruin now, not just his house but his very insides. Torn raw like a carcass of an animal's leftovers after all the good parts had been devoured and only waste remained, Snape wondered what the point was of going on with his wretched life, for life itself had wretched every good possibility of redemption away from him, but maybe he deserved it for selling his soul to a devil who found amusement in playing demented parlor tricks with his followers and victims alike.

No one would believe him innocent of the blood that covered his shattered spirit. Not one person from the much-esteemed Order of the Phoenix would believe that any amount of his own blood could atone for the heinous sin he had done, nor would they believe that perhaps his soul was more tainted with the blood from his broken, bleeding heart than from any other source.

He knew no one would miss him, anyway, regardless of whether he killed Dumbledore or not. They had tolerated him at best, and that had been on the good days. Few had possessed the wisdom Dumbledore had to see beyond outward appearances, which were, more often that not, deceiving.

_Maybe if they would have bothered to look a little deeper, they would have understood my motives. I would have done anything Albus asked of me, anything he insisted upon as necessary for the defeat of the Dark Lord - even in death or to the point of death, no matter whose death._

Snape's memory of the night he had fled Hogwarts was mostly a blur. The looks on faces glaring at him, especially Potter's, came to the forefront of his mind. He recalled Dumbledore's pleading blue-eyed gaze and felt his chest tighten.

_Damn the old fool! Why did it have to come to this?_

From the moment those girls had arrived to fetch him... The look on Miss Granger's face. She had been desperate and scared, and he could have sworn she had tried to read his face, too. What had she seen? With unsettling certainly, Snape realized that he had given her a glimpse of his vulnerable side. Of Potter's friends, she had always been the most insightful, and although he would never had admitted it to her, he was grateful to have overheard her on a couple of occasions defending him.

_Ha! Her defending me! What must she think of me now? And why do I care so much? Is it because Hermione always trusted me like Albus had?_

Snape stopped in his thoughts. Hermione? Since when had he started calling her by her given name? The Granger girl was in the forefront of his weary mind, and for some reason, he couldn't change that and found that he didn't want to. Perhaps Hermione was the only possibility of anyone believing in his innocence?

What a notion! He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, but in the darkness, Snape could have sworn that he felt an odd emotion tugging at his heartstrings, pulling them in odd directions. Had his emotions finally reached the point of no return and fallen over the edge into oblivion? Was his mind spinning out of control for thinking so of Hermione, for finding some small shred of hope in her? For finding that he had long admired her when he had not realized it until this very moment?

Snape closed his eyes and wished for the absurd possibility of what benevolent fools who wore their hearts on their sleeves called a better tomorrow. The tapestry of fate, whether one believed in such nonsense or not, was being woven by spinning heartstrings.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

_June 1998_

Some stories tell of grand adventure and dangerous quests, where the hero triumphs in the end, gets the girl, and lives nauseatingly "happily ever after" in a saccharine world.

This is not one of those stories.

Herein lies the bittersweet telling of the aftermath of a great war and how one lonely, despondent man's life was left shattered, to the point where he never imagined he would be capable of rebuilding his dignity from the fragmented ruins of dashed hopes and broken ways. This is the story of one Severus Snape.

Whenever a war ends, in theory, people should be happy, relieved, grateful... any number of positive, good feelings, but in reality, this is not always the case. The loss of war comes with a heavy price, and those who live to tell their stories are never the same. A part of them is lost on that battlefield, and they are left feeling unwhole.

For the average wizard, perhaps he would have been able to handle such a feeling inwardly invading every shred of his being, but for someone like Snape, who knew hardly any goodness in his life, it was as if the bending, narrow, dirty road he had been following all his life had finally ended... into a pit of despair.

Despair - oh, how it rang across the bloodied battlefield that infamous night of the final showdown. Voldemort was dead, destroyed, gone forever, thanks to Harry Potter, but the rancid smell of human flesh, charred and smouldering, filled the hot, humid air, and much blood had been spilled, never to reclaim life. As the young lady ran around in circles on the field, she felt dizzy with desperation, her thick hair sticking to her skin like slippery snakes, her wand nearly slipping from her sticky grip.

Harry was all right. Ron was all right. Ginny was all right. Three checks there, but Hermione was frantic with panic and worry.

_Where was he?_

There, there he was. Spotting his prone, dark form, Hermione raced to his side, feeling the drain of fatigue and utter desolation wearing her down to the bare bone.

She felt for a pulse, the confirmation of life or death. Weak, but there. Life had chosen to stay, for whatever reason that he was not yet willing or able to comprehend, but he was in no shape to understand much of anything at the moment. He was out cold, to put it simply.

The next few minutes were mostly a blur, but Snape's unconscious body was taken to St. Mungo's, and all Hermione could do was follow, hoping not only to see her reflection in deep black eyes staring back at her one day soon, but for time to be ripe for his long-deserved freedom.

And maybe even happiness.

Being forced to wait, agonizingly as time crept slowly by, Hermione sat alone in the lobby. Her friends were scattered - some had come to the hospital to see injured friends and relatives, others were back home, and others were heaven knows where. As she sat, she had all the time in the world to contemplate various things, mostly the journey she and three of her closest friends - and one outsider - had taken the past year. One by one, the Horcruxes had been found and destroyed, much thanks to Snape's cunning skills as a double agent.

At first, she had been in secret contact with Snape, with him passing on useful information to her, and she would then bring it to the attention of her friends. She remembered the first time she had come in contact with Snape after he had killed Dumbledore. It had been a late summer night, and she had foolishly wandered outside alone after an Order meeting, only to come across the man many thought a traitor, but she had had more sense than most. From the day of Dumbledore's fateful end, she never felt settled in believing that Snape had been a cold-blooded murderer. He had been sarcastic, biting, mean, even cruel. He had been many unpleasant things, but heartless had not been one of them.

Convinced in her reasoning, Hermione had tried to persuade Harry into seeing the circumstances in a new light - through her unblinded eyes and unbiased opinion, but he had refused point-blank. Just as she had given up on Harry ever seeing clearly where Snape was concerned, she had come face-to-face with the man whom she sat up night after night wondering about. Upon that initial meeting, her reasons had been confirmed, and she had come to trust him.

Secrets could not remain hidden forever, though. Within two months' time, Harry had spotted Snape when they were on the verge of finding the Cup of Hufflepuff. Snape had wanted his life ended that day. He didn't even try to fight back when Harry raised his wand to utter the two words that would have terminated Snape's tragic excuse for a life, but Hermione had intervened - among the bravest, and perhaps most foolish, things she had ever risked.

Reflecting back on those months that had since fled, Hermione was very glad she had taken that risk. Snape had proven to be a strong ally, even though Harry had never come to like the oftentimes insufferable older wizard. A begrudging respect had grown between Harry and Snape, however, and for that Hermione was more than grateful. It was all more than she could have expected in her wildest dreams.

But all that had not been enough. Many nights, without Snape knowing, Hermione had remained awake, silently watching him as he paced restlessly or stirred from nightmares in his uneasy sleep. She had come to consider him a friend of sorts, and even though he had never voiced the same to her, she had a strong feeling that he thought of her in much the same way. She had known he was not happy, not satisfied - no matter how much good he did. She had worried constantly about him, wondering if he was merely biding his time, watching the hours of his life tick away and slip through the hourglass, from top to bottom.

And so it would seem that she had been right all along - as was nearly always the case with Hermione. This time, she wanted nothing more than to be wrong.

Finally, after dozing in the uncomfortable chair, Hermione was awaken by someone gently shaking her by the shoulder.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she groggily stared up at the person who was standing there. It was one of the Healers.

"Miss Granger?" he enquired.

"Yes," she replied, hopefully.

"He is steady now, although he has yet to awaken. I cannot say how long he will be out, but I believe the worst of everything is over."

She nodded, a small amount of relief coursing through her. "May I visit him?" She gazed upon the Healer with large, expectant eyes.

"Yes, but only for a little while."

She nodded again and stood, walking in the direction the Healer indicated. An Auror was stationed outside the room, and biting her tongue, Hermione realized that it was only a precaution the Ministry felt needed to be in place. Even though Snape had more than righted his wrongs in her eyes, he had yet to receive a trial. Thankfully, due to the input of many Order members intervening on Snape's behalf, the Ministry officials had agreed to letting the poor man's wounds be tended first, before he would be taken elsewhere for the trial. Many figured he would simply die anyway, and even if he lived, he was in no condition to try and escape.

When she reached the door, Hermione tentatively gazed into the dark room, avoiding the eyes of the Auror. She could barely make out the form of a man lying on his back on the lone bed. She released a breath she didn't know she had been holding and stepped into the room, going to a chair that was next to the bed.

She used her wand to light the torch that hung on the wall nearby, ensuring that she kept the amount of light to the minimum, as to not disturb him. His lower half was covered by a simple white sheet, and without his usual black robes, he looked smaller and much less intimidating. In fact, there was nothing at all intimidating about the man who lay there before her. For a while now, Hermione had not been scared of him. A wave of sympathy flooded her heart, and she reached for his hand. He was hot and clammy to the touch, and as she held his hand, hoping for a reciprocating gesture, she received none. If it had not been for the slow rising and falling of his chest, she would have thought him dead.

She wondered how much damage was covered by the sheet and gown he was wearing, for looking now at his face, she saw that the whole right half was covered in bandages. His head, too, was mostly covered by a bandage, and she cringed at the thought of how discolored and disfigured he probably was underneath. How both appropriate and inappropriate such cruel irony was - that he should be so marred and bruised physically and emotionally. The bruises on the surface matched well the bruises his soul had endured for far too long.

And here they were, covered up, as if trying to hide the reality of all the pain and suffering he had somehow lived through. If anyone's life had been riddled by harsh unfairness and downright despotism, it had been Severus Snape's.

Snape had never been a handsome man by any means, but now he looked a broken shell of a person even more. A sad smile crept onto Hermione's face as she realized his large nose had been spared damage, one of the few familiar traits left. She couldn't see his limp, black hair hanging around his face because of the bandages, and with his eyes shut, no piercing black eyes glared back at her. His mouth, which was almost always scowling, had a pinched look about it, and she wondered if he was in much pain.

"Pray, open your eyes and look upon my face," Hermione softly pleaded, still holding his hand in her own. "You are not alone, even now when you think your life would have been better ended. Please, Severus."

He did not open his eyes.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Everything was a dream. It simply had to be. What else could this strange, misty place be but something imagined?

Snape found it rather annoying that his eyes weren't functioning properly, for he saw nothing but a thick fog everywhere he turned and could barely see his own hands as he held them out in front of him. Random flashes of scenes from his life came and went before his blurry eyes, and nothing seemed to make much sense - except that he was doomed.

He found himself laughing bitterly. Doomed, yes. So was the story of his life. Should he be surprised? Hardly.

But amidst all the tragedy, he suddenly saw her face. It was clearer than the rest, and she was smiling at him. He remembered that smile, her pretty face, her sweet and understanding voice - how he had turned away from the young lady time and again, silently pushing her away with much reluctance, never deserving of someone so pure as her.

He thought he felt a light touch to his hand, as if someone were holding it, but then it was gone.

She disappeared, and everything went black. He remembered now. He remembered everything that had transpired on a battlefield what could have been hours, days, or years ago... Luckily, for him, Voldemort had been preoccupied with Potter, but that hadn't stopped the Death Eaters from coming at him. He was now an exposed traitor, and they were not about to let him die without having their fun first.

Burning hexes, boils, cuts, bone-breaking curses, Crucios - anything you could possibly imagine - they hurled at him. Initially, he fought back as much as he could manage, but being outnumbered ten to one is a severe disadvantage. After a while, weak with numbness, pain, and fatigue, he stopped fighting. If this was to be his end, then he would welcome it. He had fought and run and fought some more and then was running again, and frankly, he had had enough of it all. Sooner or later, he knew he would meet his fate.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was Lucius Malfoy's sneering face glaring down on him, his lips moving and no doubt uttering all sorts of vile names and curses, but Snape's ears had stopped listening - whether by choice or not, he didn't know.

And so, the blackness now returned after he had spent what felt like much time swimming around in a pool of vague reality and imagination. Suddenly, he felt a sharp, pulsing jolt of pain in the back of his head, and something was pulling him down with startling speed.

His tortured soul had endured enough of his nightmares, and without realizing it, he awakened. Gazing at his surroundings, his mind didn't register where he was. Reaching a shaky hand to his face, he gasped when he felt the bandages covering the whole right side. He then noticed that the curtains of black hair that normally covered his visage were absent, and so he moved his hands to the top and back of his head, only to feel more bandages. At the base of his head, he felt a lump under the bandages. Toying lightly with the area, he realized his hair had been tied back and stuffed under the wrappings. He pulled the knot free, for the odd pressure there was giving him a headache. Feeling a ponytail fall onto his neck, he sighed. He never wore his hair this way.

Looking to his left, he saw a window and noticed a dim sunrise shining through. Everything about the room was so clinical and clean and white. He saw a chair next to the bed and finally realized he was at St. Mungo's. So he hadn't died after all, and for whatever reason, he wasn't in Azkaban.

_Yet,_ his mind taunted him.

But why had anyone bothered to bring him here first? Surely the Ministry would have been quick to convict the man whose face had been posted in the _Daily Prophet_ and on posters everywhere for the past year. He should have been receiving a kiss - from a Dementor - right about now. Was this some sort of joke?

Snape scowled at the empty chair. As if anyone would ever visit him! What was he expecting? Perhaps the very fact that he was here and not in Azkaban had granted him a small shred of hope, but just as soon as it had come, it had fled. Hope indeed. No one cared about him, and they never would. Now, more than ever, he wished he would have died and ended his misery.

Basic needs taking presidence, Snape felt terribly thirsty. Thankfully, a cup of water rested on the small table next to the bed, between it and the chair. As he reached for the cup, his nose smelled a familiar scent. Her smell. Had she been here?

Gazing at the chair again, Snape noticed a slight indentation on the padded seat. Feeling his heart leap, Snape nearly dropped the glass.

_Oh, Hermione... you foolish girl. Why would you have wasted your precious time coming here?_ he thought forlornly, raising the glass to his mouth and taking a drink.

With a sigh and too weak to move, Snape leaned back against the pillow and drifted to sleep.

x x x x x

Hermione had not been allowed to stay long at St. Mungo's. Reluctantly, she left shortly after having visited Snape, but she was glad to see her friends again. She arrived at the Burrow in the middle of the night, where Harry, Ron, and Ginny were still awake and sitting around the kitchen table, cups of tea clenched between their hands. She, apparently, had not been the only one who wouldn't find sleep that night. The battle was still too fresh in their minds.

"Hi," Hermione quietly greeted them, stepping into the kitchen.

The trio looked up at her. Ron and Ginny were relieved to see her there, but Harry looked angry and annoyed. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"What?" Hermione asked, aghast. "I told you - I would be at St. Mungo's. Severus is-"

"Oh, yes, 'Severus,'" Harry said sourly. "Yeah, I remember, but I don't recall you saying you'd be gone half the night. We were worried sick about you, Hermione."

With a deep sigh, Hermione sat down. She was too tired to stand anymore, and to be honest, she was too exhausted to be having this argument.

"Harry, I'm fine. You know how I feel about Severus. He's my friend just as much as any of you are. I would think that after all this time you would have accepted him."

Giving Harry a pleading look, Hermione wished he would simply let has beens be something of the past, but like Snape, Harry was stubborn and could hold a grudge for an inordinate amount of time.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. "I just... thought you would have wanted to be with us, is all. We've always been together, and now that Voldemort's gone, it's finally safe, and I thought you would want to be with those who are your closest friends."

Harry had a sullen look about him. He had finished off Voldemort, true enough, but Harry would never be the same again. For the first time in his life, he had killed someone, even though that someone had been an evil overlord.

Reaching across the table, Hermione placed a comforting hand on Harry's. "Harry," she said steadily, "look at me."

Harry did so.

"You know I love you as a dear friend and a brother." Glancing at Ron and Ginny, she added, "I think of all of you in that way. I am so happy you are all okay after what's just happened, and you'll always have me. You should know that. It goes without saying, but-" She paused, considering her next words carefully. "But I also care about Severus, and even though you don't like him, he's more than redeemed himself. He would have gladly died to protect you, Harry - to protect any of us. He isn't okay, though. If you would have been there - at St. Mungo's - and seen him... Oh, Harry, he looks terrible." Hermione couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. She hated crying, but she was beyond caring now.

Harry nodded slowly, and Ginny went to his side, embracing him. "You'll always have us, too, Hermione," Ginny assured her. "Right, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry replied, smiling a little.

"And you know you can always stay here," Ron added. "Harry'll be staying here until he decides what to do."

Hermione murmured her thanks, wiping the spilt tears away, and then voiced a question they had all been wondering. "Do you think we'll have to return to Hogwarts in the fall?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. That would be weird - having to go back to school after being off a whole year, and after everything we've been through, it would just seem so strange to have to go back, as if nothing had ever happened."

"And we'll all be a year older than seventh years are supposed to be," Harry reckoned. "I'll be eighteen next month..."

"And I'll be nineteen come September," Hermione said, surprised at the thought.

Even though they would only be a year older, they all felt like they had aged so much more than that. War changes people, and the experiences that come with facing such life-altering circumstances bring with them wisdom beyond youth and understanding beyond normal life.

"Well, let's not worry about that right now," Ginny said. "I know it's hard, but in a few days, we will sort things out. We do have reason to celebrate, too. Let's not forget that."

Smiling encouragingly at her friends, Ginny reminded them that nothing had been in vain. They had accomplished the task they had set out to do a year ago, and Harry had stepped up to the proverbial plate and done what he had needed to do. Life, overall, was good.

But as Hermione went upstairs to join Ginny in her bedroom, Hermione's mind kept drifting back to Snape. She wanted to go to him again, but her body was telling her that, for now, she desperately needed sleep. She surrendered to that fact and slept far into the morning.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Times passes, as it has a way of doing, and since the end of the great battle, a week's worth of time had traversed. While Hermione longed to return to St. Mungo's and visit Snape again, her attention was needed elsewhere, for now that she was among those who had fought and lived through the war, she was constantly being interviewed. To escape the demands of the wizarding world, she decided to return to her parents for a few days, but she also knew that she was long overdue for a visit. Being Muggles, they were quite oblivious to much that happened in the wizarding world, but they knew that their daughter's life had been in danger for a while, much to their horror and dismay.

Meanwhile, life slowly started to return to some semblance of normalcy among most of the wizarding community. People returned to work and came home in the evening, finding that their families were finally safe. The Ministry was abuzz with trials and headline-breaking stories daily, but at St. Mungo's, time did not seem to be going so fast.

Confined to a bed, Snape grew more and more restless and irritable by the day. A few members of the Order had come to visit, including Aberforth Dumbledore, who had been the first member to recognize Snape's innocence and had helped him get back on his feet again shortly after Dumbledore had been killed. Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Arthur and Molly Weasley had all been kind and understanding enough to visit Snape, but the tension in the room had been thick during every visit, and conversation was kept to a minimum, resulting in an awkwardness that could only be broken by the visitors giving in and leaving, politely submitting to blathering well-wishes and cordial good byes.

Snape's wounds were healing, and instead of pain, he was subjected to annoying itchiness all over his body. Some of the bandages had been removed, including the ones on his face and back of the head. For that, he was thankful, for now he could see with both eyes once more, but unfortunately, whenever he tried to read a book, he had a hard time focusing. The words would become blurred, and he would quickly feel a headache coming on.

Sighing, he laid the latest book he had been trying, in vain, to read down on the table next to the bed and was in the middle of leaning back when someone entered the room.

It was her.

Hermione slowly made her way toward the bed, giving him a slight smile. She finally was here visiting him again, something she had been wanting to do all week, but now that she was actually in the same room as him, she was finding it hard to find her words. She stopped once she was next to the bed, but she didn't sit down.

Studying him, she was relieved to see that he looked better. His wounds were healing nicely, and he looked like he had been taken care of well.

"You look... nice," she said delicately.

Snape snorted. "Nice?" he asked sarcastically. "Hardly."

Hermione sighed. This was not turning out the way she had hoped. "What I meant to say is... I'm glad you're better."

"Well, how _nice_ of you to come by and say so," Snape said acidly. "Now, if you have nothing of importance to say, you would be better off leaving and sparing me from suffering from your lack of social skills."

Hermione felt each icy word pierce her to the core, and she had to turn away, lest he see the awful effect his biting words had on her. She couldn't stop her tears as the hot saltiness spilled over her lower eyelids and poured down her cheeks. Stifling a hiccup, she made her way toward the door to leave.

What had she expected? A warm welcome? This glowering, snarky, ill-tempered man may have helped her friends this past year and done everything in his power to fight for what was right, but his sheer cruelty was the most prominent thing about him at that moment, with the exception of his nose, perhaps.

"You ungrateful bastard," Hermione muttered, not looking at him.

Just as she was about to close the door, she heard a withering sigh and a quiet, disembodied, "Hermione."

She stopped but didn't turn.

"I..." he faltered. "That was uncalled for... I mean, on my part."

That was the closest thing to an apology she was going to receive from him. Still not pleased, Hermione released a loud, petulant sigh and faced him, crossing her arms over her chest, her brows arched inwardly in anger. The fierceness of the look she was giving him was unsettling, and if there was one thing Snape had learned about Hermione in the past year, it was that when she was determined, nothing could stop her.

"Why do you have to be so mean?" she practically accused. "I have done nothing to deserve such cruelty. Maybe you don't believe me, but I've been worried sick about you all week, and I finally come to see how you are, and you throw daggers at me with your horrid words and your bad temper."

Snape shot her a disbelieving look. "Pray, tell me, Hermione, if you have been so worried all week, why didn't you come until now?"

"I- I wanted to," she said, almost desperately, "but things got in the way that prevented me. Trust me, Severus-"

"Trust?" he hissed softly. "Trust is a word thrown around far too loosely. Trust means nothing to me. You should have realized that months ago."

"Then why did you help us?" she challenged. "If you didn't trust us, why would you have journeyed with us, risking your life? Had we wanted to, we could have turned you in at any time."

"I had nothing to lose," Snape spat sourly. "I have told you this time and again, Hermione - that my life is worth little or nothing."

"Stop saying that," she countered, a pleading look in her eyes. "You've survived, and you're here, recovering."

"For how long? There will be a trial, and I will be found guilty in the eyes of the Ministry and condemned to death, anyway. My survival has been nothing but a delay of the inevitable."

"Well, I don't believe that," she insisted. "And neither should you," she added, taking a seat. Her nerves were starting to calm, for she had been worn threadbare with arguing.

Snape just shook his head. "Believe what you must, Hermione," he stated grimly, "but my fate is not for you to decide."

"I wish it were," she whispered, not realizing she had voiced her thought aloud.

"What was that?"

Hermione covered her mouth, realizing that he had heard her, but she knew it was already too late. "I wish it were... up to me to decide, that is," she admitted. She knew she had nothing to hide. Why bother? If he hadn't figured out yet that she cared about him, then that was his shortcoming, not hers.

"Why should you care so much, you silly girl? What consequence is it to you?"

"I have tried to tell you again and again that I consider you a friend, Severus," Hermione said firmly. "And friends care about each other. Surely that isn't a foreign concept, even to you."

"My life has hardly been one inundated with friends, Hermione, so forgive me if I have a hard time believing you," Snape replied sardonically.

"You would dare question my integrity, my sincerity?" Hermione questioned, clearly hurt. "I... I was here the first night you arrived. I cried over you, held your hand, talked to you, worried about you day and night. Severus, for heaven's sake, I practically laid my soul open and bare for you that night, just as I have time and again these past several months. If that isn't enough to convince you of my friendship toward you, then I don't know what is."

Hermione felt herself bristling with hurt again. How much longer would this insufferable man agonize her for no reason, other than his own unwillingness to see the truth?

"I- I apologize, Hermione," Snape said softly, feeling utterly ashamed. He was staring at his hands as they rested on his lap, where they twitched uncomfortably.

Hermione was moved. For him to have apologized was a small miracle. Severus Snape _never_ apologized - or so he said. Filled with compassion, Hermione leaned toward him, and reaching a hand to his face, placed it on his lower cheek, gently cupping his chin. Slowly, she lifted his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Severus," she murmured, almost tenderly, her face inches from his. "Never doubt me and what I feel for you."

"I felt your presence that night," he whispered, "when you touched my hand."

Giving him a soft smile, Hermione kissed him on the cheek. "With those thoughts, Severus, go to sleep. I will see you soon, I promise."

Before he could find his voice, Hermione had left.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

And so Hermione kept her promise. The very next day she returned to St. Mungo's, and as she stepped into the room, she found herself amused. Snape had a tray of food in front of him, and he was studying the concoction as if it were something Neville Longbottom had tried brewing in Potions and at which he had failed miserably.

"Hello, Severus," she greeted him, coming to the side of the bed and sitting down.

Dropping the spoon unceremoniously onto the edge of the bowl of what Hermione supposed was soup, Snape looked up at her. "You're back," he said simply.

"Yes, I'm back. I promised you I would return soon, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Snape murmured, finding it difficult to keep a smile from creeping onto his slack face. He also remembered her parting - the tender kiss she had placed so delicately and lovingly on his cheek.

There was an awkward pause that followed. Just on the other side of the door stood an Auror, and beyond that, more people as they walked through the corridors. Snape, who had always valued his privacy highly, had been at the mercy of the ministrations of Healers and their assistants for over a week now. Even though he was grateful to see Hermione, he felt the discomfort of his surroundings closing in on him like the walls of some horrible trap.

Hermione attempted a small joke, hoping to bring him some ease. "Is the food really that bad?" she asked, giving the bowl of sludge a quick glance.

"You would even dare term this stuff food?" inquired Snape sardonically. "I eat only because of hunger and the insistence of the Healers. This -" he motioned toward the soup - "is supposed to be split pea soup with ham in it, but it tastes like a salve I use to heal wounds."

Hermione laughed at the disgusted look on his face. She couldn't help it. If someone would have told her a couple of years ago that she would be sitting next to Severus Snape as he sat in a hospital bed and made faces at his food like a stubborn child refusing to eat, she wouldn't have believed it. But there were many things she had come to believe now - things she never would have imagined believing not so long ago.

Sobering, Hermione said, "You really are looking better. Your wounds are nearly healed, and you look like you've gotten some rest and relaxation. How are you feeling, Severus?"

"Fine," he mumbled, shrugging. "Mostly bored."

"Any word on when you will be released?"

"Most unfortunately, no." He sighed. "I'm more awaiting news of when my impending trial will be."

Frowning, Hermione reached for his hand. He allowed her and even returned the favor by gently squeezing her hand.

"You will be fine," she reassured him. Or was she trying to reassure herself of his fate? "You've done so many good things. No one can deny that. If it hadn't been for you, we would have never found all the Horcruxes, and Voldemort would still be roaming free, as powerful as ever."

Snape visibly cringed at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"It's just a name," Hermione insisted gently. "He's gone... forever."

"That doesn't mean his name still doesn't evoke fear inside me, Hermione," Snape whispered. His shame was evident on his face and in his voice. For years, Snape had refused to say the Dark Lord's name, had yelled at anyone who dared utter it in his presence. The very name was too strong a reminder of the bad choices Snape had made in his life, and having to live with the consequences, he didn't need others reminding him of that fact.

Hermione nodded, affirming her understanding. She wasn't about to push the point further, for she knew better than most that Snape was stubborn to a fault. Before either of them could say anything more, the door opened and in stepped on of the Healers.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Snape," he man politely said. Noticing Hermione, he added, "Ah, I see you have a visitor."

Hermione gave the man a kind smile. He was an older man, but not nearly as old as Dumbledore had been. His hair looked like he had fried it in a pan of butter, and it was sticking out at odd angles in every imaginable direction. He had a bushy moustache and reading glasses perched on his bulbous nose.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione introduced herself, knowing Snape wasn't likely to extend the courtesy.

"A pleasure, I am sure, Ms. Granger," the Healer replied, stepping closer to Snape's bed. "I'm Healer Edgar Remington."

Snape scowled at the Healer, as if to say, "Well, get on with it, then."

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Snape?" Remington asked.

"Fine," muttered Snape, clearly agitated, crossing his arms sullenly over his chest and glaring at the Healer.

Remington ignored Snape's unpleasant demeanor and proceeded to check him for signs of progress. Poking and prodding the poor man, Remington nodded, murmuring to himself, stopping every so often to write something down on his parchment.

"You're healing nicely. Now, try standing for me."

Snape looked at the Healer incredulously. From that look, Hermione gathered that Snape had not stood for the better part of a week. Snape slowly eased himself into a sitting position, gingerly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Pushing off the side of the bed with his hands, Snape took his time. Finally, he was standing, but his legs were wobbling, the misuse of them evident. Just as he was about to lose his balance, he reached for the foot of the bed, falling gracelessly back onto the bed.

"Not bad, not bad," Remington commented, scribbling more notes on his scroll. "That will do for now, Mr. Snape. Good day to you. Ms. Granger."

With that incline of his head, Healer Remington left the room, leaving a very embittered Snape behind. Embarrassed, Snape pulled the covers over his lower half again and leaned back against the inclined upper part of the bed.

"Well, that was humiliating," he grumbled. "I have been reduced to some sort of invalid. I can't even stand properly, let alone walk. I can't read without getting a headache. I can't eat this foul-tasting stuff they call food."

Part of Hermione was amused by his ranting, for he really was acting like a petulant child in some ways, but mostly, she felt sorrow and compassion for the broken man in front of her.

"Oh, Severus," she sighed, shaking her head. "You've been through a huge ordeal. You have to give it some time. Everyone knows that hospital food is utterly horrible, and the misuse of anyone's legs for an extended period of time would cause them to weaken. As for your headaches when you try to read, maybe you simply need reading glasses."

"I do _not_ need reading glasses," Snape replied sulkily.

"How do you know?" Hermione half-teased. "A lot of people wear glasses. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Easy for you to say, Hermione. You're an attractive young woman. You would probably look studiously sexy in glasses. I, on the other hand..."

_Studiously sexy?_ Hermione thought, feeling a blush creep onto her face. He had just complimented her without realizing it, while demeaning himself. This latter part caused her to frown.

"You would look just fine," Hermione insisted. "I think you would look... nice." She was about to say sexy, but she had stopped herself, feeling she would be going too far. What if he took offense?

Snape, however, seemed offended anyway. He had mistaken her hesitation. "Indeed, Hermione," he sneered. "Say what you meant."

Hermione released an exasperated sigh. Feeling she had overstayed her welcome, she said, "Maybe I should go. You need to sleep."

"Oh, are you one of my Healers now, too?" Snape asked, his lip curling.

Standing up, Hermione shot a heated glare at Snape. As she stomped away, she said over her shoulder, "If you can't learn to take a compliment, Severus, then that's your problem. You have obviously had plenty of time to sit here and think about things. Instead of festering in your self-pity, why don't you try picking yourself up again? I'd recommend starting by working on your trust issues... and getting some damn glasses."

With a slam of the door, she was gone. What a contrast her exit had been from the previous day. Staring at the closed door, all Snape could think was that he had finally met his match.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

When Hermione returned to the Burrow that evening, she was not in a good mood. She had arrived just in time for dinner, and the moment she stepped into the house, her friends knew something was amiss.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"I don't really want to talk about it, Ron," replied Hermione tersely, taking a seat.

"You were visiting Snape again, weren't you?"

That was Harry, and it wasn't a question - more of an accusation. Hermione glared at him.

"You don't have to talk about my visits to Severus like they're a punishment."

"Really?" Harry inquired, feigning surprise. "Then why are you in such a bad mood?"

"That's really none of your business, Harry," snapped Hermione.

She was beginning to wonder why she had even returned here directly after having gone to St. Mungo's. Before they could argue further, Mr. Weasley joined them at the table, and Mrs. Weasley brought in the food, steaming hot and smelling delicious. During the meal, Hermione hardly had the stomach to keep her food down. She felt ill because of what had transpired at St. Mungo's that afternoon.

She had only been trying to help the insufferable man, and what had he done? He had not only pushed her away, but he had shoved her away with a violence that clearly said, "Leave me alone. I don't want you here. I don't need you here."

With a clanging of her fork on the plate, Hermione announced that she was finished and picked up her plate and utensils, placing them in the sink. She went upstairs to the room she was sharing with Ginny and sat down on the bed, sighing.

Looking around at the familiar surroundings, Hermione wanted to burst into tears. She had so many memories of the Burrow. Every summer, for years, she had come here before going off to Hogwarts. Now, she felt like she didn't belong at all. She had alienated her closest friends by choosing to pursue a friendship with a man whom many with common sense wouldn't have bothered coming near, but what did the rest of the world know? Hermione had common sense by the boat loads, and she could see things inside Snape that so many others had refused to see. She had known that she would be taking the less travelled path - that it would be windy and rocky and treacherous - but Hermione's fierce determination and strength of mind and heart weren't about to let her start making excuses, most especially not now.

With a growing feeling of guilt, Hermione realized that she had already alienated her parents years ago. The simple fact that they were Muggles and she was a witch already dug a gaping canyon between them. She felt detached from her childhood home every time she visited. If that was not her home, and she no longer had Hogwarts or the Burrow, where did she belong?

She knew she couldn't stay here any longer. She was eighteen years old, plenty old enough to find her own place in the wizarding world, but money would be a problem sooner rather than later. Thankfully, she had a couple months' worth of gold in her Gringotts vault, but she would need to find a job.

She began packing her few belongings, and just as she was shoving the last of her clothes into her bag, she heard the door open behind her.

"What are you doing?" she heard Ginny ask, confusion and hurt in her voice.

"I'm packing," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I can see that," Ginny said, coming to stand next to the older girl, "but why?"

Hermione stuffed the clothes into the bag and drew it closed. Sighing, she faced Ginny, murmuring, "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I can't stay. I need to find my own place. I can't help but feel I've overstayed my welcome here."

Ginny's brows arched inward. Angry, she said, "So you're running away? Hermione, you know how daft Ron and Harry can be sometimes, but you don't have to leave. You've been inseparable from them for seven years, and now you're just going to throw it all away?"

"It's not that simple," Hermione insisted. "Ginny, please try to understand. We aren't kids anymore. Sooner or later this was bound to happen. And I'm not throwing anything away. Just because I'm not living here doesn't mean we still won't see each other, still won't be the best of friends."

"Well, excuse me for saying so, Hermione, but I have a hard time believing that." Clearly hurt, Ginny turned away and went toward her bed.

Feeling her chest tighten, Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and walked to her friend. Placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder, she silently begged the younger girl to turn around and face her. Instead, Ginny had her arms crossed defensively over her chest, and she was standing stiffly at the foot of the bed.

"Ginny, please," Hermione pleaded. "You're not losing me as a friend, and neither are Harry or Ron. I just... this is something I need to do. Please trust me on this. It would mean the world to me if I knew I had your support."

Sighing heavily, Ginny relented and turned to face Hermione. She was just a couple of inches shorter than the slightly older witch, so their gazes were nearly eye-to-eye. Ginny tried to smile, but she failed.

"You always have my support, Hermione. It's just so strange that we should be going our separate ways now. I do understand, and what you're doing - being there for Snape - is the right thing to do. I know I don't say it much, but I think he's a good man, and if anyone can help him, it's you. You've got more courage than most to take on someone like Snape." Ginny grinned, shrugging.

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said sincerely. "I guess I had better talk with Harry and Ron now."

"You're still intent on leaving tonight, then?"

"Yes, I think... it would be for the better." Hesitating, she added, "If I stay another night, it'll be all the harder to leave, and right now, I don't think I can keep myself tied down out of old obligations. The war is over now, and we all have to find our own place in the world."

While Hermione's words could have been interpreted as somewhat heartless, what she said held much truth as well. Ginny, however, understood the meaning well and didn't demand further explanation.

Returning to her bed, Hermione shrank the bag down and placed it inside her pocket. She was wearing Muggle clothes, so the bag would be securely held inside her jeans. Together, Ginny and she left the room and went down the hallway to Ron's room, where the boys would no doubt be.

The moment she entered, Hermione felt the tension in the room. Harry had been reading a magazine on Quidditch, while Ron had been tossing a Snitch aimlessly between his hands as he lay on his bed. Glancing up from the magazine, Harry sent a glare in Hermione's direction and spat, "Come to apologize, then?"

Hermione sighed. This was not going to be easy.

"Harry," she stated levelly. "Please, listen to me. I-"

But Harry cut her off. "Oh? More 'listening,' is it?"

Ron threw a pillow at Harry. "Just listen to what she has to say, mate," he said firmly.

Harry released an annoyed sigh. "Fine."

Taking a seat, Hermione decided the best thing she could do was to come right out and say what she needed to say - no sugarcoating or anything. "I'm leaving, and before you ask why, please understand that it's not because I don't want to be friends. As I told you a few days ago, our friendship will always be important to me and will endure for the rest of our lives, I believe. We've been through so much, and our friendship has survived and grown stronger. Right now, though, I feel I need to live my life as I feel it's trying to take me. Who knows if we'll be back at Hogwarts or not come the fall, but regardless of that, we are adults. I... I just feel it's what my heart is trying to tell me... to try and follow my own path."

"And this path involves that git, does it?" Harry questioned disbelievingly.

"Please don't call him that, Harry."

Hermione paused, wondering if Harry would take his words back. When he said nothing, Ron said, "Go on, Hermione."

Nodding, she continued, "Yes, I feel my path, if you will, does involve Severus. I don't know what the future holds, but very soon there will be a trial, and I intend to defend him. You were all with him as well this past year, so I ask you to please think about doing the same. I know you don't like him, Harry, but you do know that he's always tried to look out for you in his own way, and he's been fighting for the good side for years now. You can't overlook how much he's helped us. He's had a miserable joke of a life for years now. Doesn't he deserve some happiness after all that?"

"Yes, Hermione, but don't forget that he _still_ murdered Dumbledore. I saw it. I was there. No matter what, you can't overlook that very obvious fact, nor can you expect to defend his motives for joining the Death Eaters in the first place. He chose to join them, Hermione, so now he needs to deal with the consequences." Harry gave her a challenging look.

"I know, Harry; I know. In his position, though, he had to choose the lesser of two evils, and Dumbledore ordered him to kill him. He would have done anything Dumbledore demanded. You yourself fed Dumbledore poison on that same night, Harry!"

"Only because he insisted that I obey his orders, no matter what!" he defended.

"It's the same thing as what Severus had to do, Harry," Hermione argued. "How hard is it for you to see that?"

"Fine, but that still doesn't justify his actions when he joined Voldemort."

"That was years ago. He was young and inexperienced. I don't know a lot about his childhood, but I know it wasn't pleasant. You saw those memories during your Occlumency lessons with him and in the Pensieve - how he was picked on, how his father abused his mother and probably him. Sirius said that Severus knew more dark curses than a seventh year when he joined Hogwarts. Why do you think that was, Harry? He was defending himself and probably his mother. He didn't have any good role model in his life to show him the right way. In his brilliance, he used it to formulate spells to defend his dignity against a bunch of bullies - and I don't just mean your father and his friends. Being in Slytherin is so different from being in Gryffindor. You can't trust anyone, and to be surrounded by the children of Death Eaters, to be told you're a part of the house that goes dark, it's like being condemned to an ill-fated life from the beginning."

Surprised by her deep analysis of Snape and his motives, Harry had to think for a moment before speaking. "You assume a lot, Hermione. Have you actually asked him about his past and gotten any straight answers?"

"Well, no... but one would have to be blind not to see the facts. The facts speak volumes by themselves, and knowing what little bit we do, that's just scratching the surface. Think what else there could be..."

"I really have no desire to try and figure out Snape," Harry said with a scowl. "You and your over-analytical mind... I suppose you would find him a good specimen for your research."

Aghast, Hermione replied heatedly, "Severus is not a research project! He's not an experiment that is simply meant to be observed and have data collected on!"

"Sorry, sorry." Harry surrendered, holding up his hands. "You're misunderstanding me. Fine, I get it, Hermione - I think. I don't like it, though."

Relieved that she had finally gotten somewhere, Hermione smiled. "Do I have your support, then? Both of you?" She looked from Harry to Ron.

"Yeah, sure," Ron stated, giving in easily enough. He didn't seem adament about pushing the matter further.

Harry had a doubting look schooled on his face, but after a moment, he nodded.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Thank you."

After that, she said her goodbyes, including to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Once she was outside, she walked a few paces from the house. Glancing over her shoulder one last time, he said a silent farewell to the house and Disapparated.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Hermione was on her own. As the sun was starting to set and the temperature was starting to drop, she walked the emptying streets of London, not sure where she was going. She knew it would be foolish to remain outside much longer, for if she turned the corner and wound up in the wrong neighborhood, she would be risking coming across the less desirable people in the city.

She finally made a decision and took a couple of turns, until she came to Charing Cross Road, the road the Leaky Cauldron was located on, and stepped inside the pub. She recognized Tom, the bartender, and the smoky atmosphere of the rundown pub. She had been there many times before, for the entrance to Diagon Alley was in the back of the innocuous pub. She felt saddened by those memories when Harry, Ron, and she would meet up or go together and buy their books and school things each summer. As she stepped up to the bar, she knew those days were long past.

"G'evenin', m'lady," Tom greeted her, giving her a toothless smile.

With a cringing smile in return, Hermione said, "Good evening," thinking that her parents would have a holiday with Tom's dental issues.

"Wha' can I do fer yeh?" he asked, raising his brows.

"I'd like a room for the night, please."

"'Kay, jus' follow me." Tom beckoned for her to follow him up a twisty staircase that was half-rotten. With each step she took, Hermione wondered if the stair beneath her foot would give way.

Finally, they reached the top and walked down a narrow, long corridor all the way to the end, where Tom undid the lock, and giving a push, the door creaked the whole way as it opened into the small, dark room.

"Here yeh go," he stated. "If yeh need anythink, jus' lemme know. Breakf'st's included."

"Thank you," Hermione replied politely, stepping into the room.

Once she was alone, she made sure the door was securely locked and then proceeded to start a fire in the grate and light a couple of candles. Even in the summer, the nights could be on the cold side, and one of the commodities Hermione always wished the wizarding world would employ was electricity. It did wonders for heating and lighting, after all, but they felt fire was just fine for them.

Once she was settled, Hermione sat on the bed, glancing out the window. All she could see was darkness, so it must have been a cloudy night. Sighing, she flopped back onto the bed, resting her head on her arms that she crossed behind her. Staring aimlessly at the ceiling, she wondered where she would go from here. She knew she couldn't afford to stay here long. Thinking about what she could do for some money, she thought about a bookstore. She loved books with a passion unmatched by practically everyone she knew - except Snape, perhaps.

Thinking of Snape, she couldn't help but feel a bit of guilt for the way she had walked out earlier today. He was a patient, after all, confined to a bed and unable to do anything he wanted. Could she really blame him for being in such a horrible mood, especially when he was oftentimes disagreeable to begin with?

A part of her wanted to return to him that moment, but their argument had only been hours ago, and she didn't think he would really wish to see her so soon. By herself now, in silence to think, Hermione felt very lonely. She had not realized how much she needed other people until she had pushed them away, but in particular, she was missing Snape.

She had thought of him as a friend for several months now, but her longing to constantly be by his bedside, checking to make sure he was all right, was a new feeling. What did it mean? What did she feel for him exactly?

Losing herself in her drifting thoughts, Hermione grew tired and felt her eyelids closing lazily, and before she knew it, she was sound asleep.

x x x x x

For the next three days, Hermione stayed at the Leaky Cauldron, sorting out both her thoughts and her affairs. She returned to her parents' house for dinner one evening and told them of her plan. They didn't seem too pleased that she was basically "letting herself blow freely wherever the wind took her," as they had put it. She collected some of her cherished things from her childhood bedroom and tried to make the best of the situation, purposefully avoiding any sore subjects in front of her parents.

She also checked her Gringotts account and withdrew some more money, using it to buy some provisions, including food that she could easily prepare herself in her room at the inn.

Her next stop was Flourish and Blotts. The moment she entered the bookshop, the smell of books filled her nostrils. It was like coming home. Smiling at her surroundings, Hermione perused the numerous sections and shelves, picking up books on any number of subjects and skimming through them. She found a couple of books in the Muggle fiction section, which was very tiny, which were some of her favorites: _Jane Eyre_ and _A Portrait of a Lady_. She was simply going to buy new copies for herself when her mind recalled Snape and his inability to read anything without getting a headache. Feeling moved with compassion, Hermione bought the books, fully intent on giving them to him, but reading them to him as an extra special treat.

As she paid for the ten or so books she had acquired, Hermione spotted a "Help Wanted" sign on the counter. When she enquired, the lady behind the counter told her that the store was looking for someone to work part time in the restocking of inventory. Expressing her interest in the job, the lady smiled and retrieved the owner from the back. Within ten minutes, Hermione was hired.

With a ridiculously huge grin on her face, Hermione left the bookstore and returned to her room at the Leaky Cauldron. The day was still fairly young, so finally working up the courage to visit St. Mungo's again, Hermione decided to surprise Snape with some decent food and the books.

A little while later, once everything was ready, she left the inn and walked the streets of London. She soon enough entered the hospital and went to the room where Snape would be.

The Auror was still positioned outside the door. Saying a polite hello to the man, Hermione proceeded into the room, finding that Snape was sleeping. She was partly relieved to see him asleep, for she didn't know what kind of reception she would have. Quietly sitting down in her usual place, Hermione silently watched him slumber, the graceful rise and fall of his chest, where one of his hands was resting, right over his heart.

He appeared so peaceful when he slept. The tense lines on his face were smoothed out, and he wasn't scowling. Instead, there was almost the hint of a smile on his normally drawn face. For someone who had a nearly permanent scowl fixed on his visage, to see him smile was like seeing the sun shine down upon the earth after days of clouds.

Reaching a hand gingerly toward his face, she gently pushed back a stray strand of hair. He stirred as she withdrew her hand, having felt her soft touch. As his eyes slowly focused on her form in front of him, he felt his chest tighten.

She was back.

"Hermione," he murmured, still in a daze from the sleep.

"Hello, stranger," she returned, leaning over and bringing a hand to his cheek, stroking it. "How are you feeling?"

"Better in days," he said softly, pausing, then, "now that you're here."

His words were simple, but Hermione was touched to the innermost fiber of her being by them. When he wanted to be, he could be unimaginably sweet.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hermione replied, smiling and trying not to start crying because of the tenderness of his words.

"About the other day-" he started to say, but Hermione interrupted, not unkindly, "No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, not after you've been forced to stay in this bed for so long."

"Still, it was inappropriate of me to have said the things I did."

He studied her for a reaction and was surprised when she reached into her bag and pulled out a container and a couple of books. "What are- ?" he began to ask, but she was already placing the container on his lap.

"Open it," she instructed.

Casting her a questioning glance, Snape lifted the lid off the container and peered inside. Confused, he picked up one of the small things he saw in there and held it up.

"It's a meal," Hermione explained. "It's shrunk, of course, and needs to be heated, but this way you can have some real food. Here, let me show you."

Hermione took the tiny plate of food and enlarged it and then heated it. Within a few seconds, a hot, steaming plate of pot roast and vegetables was in front of them. She placed it on the tray, smirking.

"Eat up," she commanded. "Trust me; it's good."

His eyebrows nearly raised to his hairline, Snape took a small bite of the meat. Hermione watched as his face lit up at the wonderful flavor, his eyes closing in satisfaction as he savored the taste.

"You're ingenious," he simply remarked, clearly impressed. Taking a couple more bites, he said, "You really didn't have to do this. Your having come back was enough."

"Nonsense," Hermione said, waving her hand in a gesture that demonstrated what she had done was no big deal. "I also brought these." She held up the two books.

"But you know I can't-" he started to protest.

Holding up her hand, Hermione said, "Let me explain, Severus. I can read them to you."

"To me?" he asked dryly, giving her one of his "looks." "Hermione, I am not a child. No one has read to me since I was about five years old."

"Well, you can't very well read them to yourself, now can you?" she pressed. "Come now, Severus. Don't be such a baby."

Hermione was not fazed in the least that she had just called her former teacher a baby. Snape, evidently, was not amused.

"I am _not_ a baby, nor am I a child who needs to be read to," Snape hissed.

Realizing that their conversation was headed in the wrong direction, Hermione took a step back and thought carefully before replying. The last thing she wanted was another pointless argument over something petty. She wanted to accuse him of being persistently difficult, but she knew better. Snape was a man who was easily offended, so she would have to be the one to see reason and be the peacemaker.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. "I shouldn't have called you that, but really, Severus, I just want to spend some quality time with you. I thought reading to you would help pass the time and put you at ease."

Snape fiercely took a bite of the meat and set down his fork. Sighing, he said, "Very well. I suppose... I have nothing better to do."

Inwardly cheering that she had won, Hermione opened _Jane Eyre_ and began reading. Within a few minutes, Snape had visibly relaxed. He had finished the meal and was leaning back against the inclined bed, his eyes closed and the same placid expression on his face as he had had when sleeping.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Hermione wasn't sure how long she had been reading, completely absorbed in the pages of the story, when she stopped, hearing the sound of Snape's soft snoring. Smiling gently, she marked her place in the book, closed it, and gingerly set it on the small table next to the bed. Intent on simply sitting there a while longer, Hermione watched Snape sleep, amazed how she came to the same conclusion whenever she watched him slumber: how peaceful he appeared as the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest lulled her into wanting to cuddle up right next to him and comfort him from the rest of the weary world.

She glanced at the empty plate, glad to see he had finished the meal. She was worried not only about his mental well-being but about his physical well-being as well. He had always been thin, but eating properly had fallen lower and lower on his list of priorities those past several months, and she was worried he would simply waste away, truly fearing his death would come not from fighting but from starving. At least he looked healthier now.

Even with the long summer days, the sunlight was beginning to wane. No day could last forever, but Hermione wished this one could - or one like it. The only change she would wish for would be watching him sleep in his own bed instead of St. Mungo's... and for him to have already endured the trial and been found innocent.

_The trial,_ Hermione thought, frowning in vexation and concern. She thought they would know by now when it would be. She would have asked him, but she wasn't about to disturb his much-needed rest.

Her eyes wandered, and Hermione looked at the table once more, where the plate still remained. For lack of anything better to do, she took it, murmured a fast cleansing charm, and shrunk it down in size again. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she noticed some papers lying on the table, on top of which was an official letter from the Ministry. The insignia of the Ministry and the words "Trial Date" caught her attention before she could turn away.

Knowing she really had no business reading Snape's things, she couldn't help herself as she reached for the letter. She scanned it, finding it utterly impersonal and straight-to-the-point. His trial was scheduled for July 31.

_Harry's birthday._

Having to wait another month seemed an agonizingly long time. Why would it take that long? Why should it? But Hermione knew better. How typical of the Ministry, like any government, to take more time than expected or necessary to get anything done.

She was just about to return the document to its spot when Snape stirred, rolling onto his side. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and silently placed the paper down on the table. As she removed her hand, however, she saw two black eyes glaring back at her.

She gasped, immediately overcome with guilt. She had been caught; there would be no denying that fact.

"What are you doing?" Snape demanded, sitting up.

Hermione was shocked how quickly he could go from being soundly asleep to being wide awake. Didn't the man ever ease into anything? Of course, he was probably a light sleeper after years of spying, being summoned in the middle of the night, patrolling corridors for reckless students, et cetera.

"I- I'm sorry, Severus," she stuttered. "I didn't mean to-"

"Oh? It was just there, and you had to look at it?" he sneered, reaching for the letter and snatching it angrily away. "Can't you keep your nose out of anything? Must you feel the need to be a Know-It-All even when you're not in the classroom?"

Every word was like a dagger, piercing her flesh, right through the muscle, to the bone. Every shred of thinking he was peaceful moments ago was dashed away in seconds, a mere illusion and nothing more. The Snape she witnessed right now was a testimony to his nastiness and why people could easily think him a heartless bastard.

Bristling with hurt, Hermione recoiled and retorted, "Keep _my_ nose out of things? Did you ever look in a mirror?" The moment her words left her mouth, Hermione severely regretted them. She had not been thinking and had reduced herself to a pettiness of a child arguing over who was right and who was wrong.

"Severus, I-" She was about to apologize, but he didn't want any part of it.

"No, you've made yourself perfectly clear. Now, perhaps you ought to leave and stop fooling yourself and me that you actually give two shits about this condemned man whose ugly mug you can't bear to gaze upon. Yes, I have my trial date, so kindly let me waste away until that time, and then they can convict me and put me out of my misery and out of your insufferable company, _Miss Granger._"

Hermione was sobbing by now. How could he be so terribly cruel? Standing, she choked on her tears. She would have slapped him had he not been confined to a hospital bed.

"How dare you, you horrible, horrible son-of-a-bitch!" Hermione yelled. "I have been nothing but kind to you, and you throw it back in my face like I'm the one who's to blame."

Her voice had risen to a level that disturbed those outside the room, and within seconds the door flew open, revealing the Auror and one of the Healers, both of whom were quite irritated.

"Is there is problem in here?" inquired the Healer, frowning at Hermione.

"No, sir. I was just on my way out," Hermione retorted, grabbing her bag and stalking past the two men, not looking back.

Once she was gone, the Healer checked Snape to ensure his was all right and then left, not speaking a word to him. The Auror stood by the door, glaring at Snape suspiciously.

_What are you looking at, you bloody idiot? It's not like I have a wand, or else I would hex you into oblivion - you and ever damned Healer in this cursed place._

Snape simply returned the glare, until the other man gave up and left. Now that he was completely alone, Snape had plenty of time to contemplate what had just passed. Once again, his temper had driven her away, and he wondered if she would come back. How many times could someone take being screamed at and told she wasn't wanted?

Sighing, Snape glanced at the table, setting the crumpled letter down on it. The book she had been reading to him was still there. In defeat, he picked it up and held it, running his dry fingers along the spine and pages. He couldn't read it, he knew, but he was already familiar with the story of _Jane Eyre._

How appropriate it seemed for his situation. He was a lot like Edward Rochester, the brute of a man who was oftentimes closed and shuttered from the world, who had dark secrets and a terrible temper, and certainly was less than handsome. In spite of all the character's faults, though, the heroine, Jane Eyre, had cared for him and loved him. And he had loved her.

Love? What had that come from? Thinking himself delusional, Snape returned the book to its place and leaned back in the bed. Here was this lovely, young lady who had taken it upon herself to care for him - to visit him and bring him good food and literature (and read to him!) - and he had to be his usual abominable self and lash out of her. With a sinking feeling, Snape realized that he was a fool, in the plainest sense of the word.

A fool in love.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The fool, as Snape had come to think of himself, fell asleep soon after Hermione had left, having nothing better to do in a hospital bed. By the time morning came, he irritably blinked open his eyes as the bright sunlight filtered into his room, blocking his face with an upheld forearm.

Before he had a moment to compose himself or think one coherent thought, the door opened.

"Good morning, Mr. Snape," a cheerful voice greeted him. "Most people enjoy the sunlight."

Snape had dark visions of what he would like to do to that man whose voice had just so nauseatingly happily interrupted his time alone. Morning people should all be baked to a slow death in the sunlight - or so Snape figured.

"I have good news for you," the Healer continued when it became clear that Snape wasn't going to entertain him with a reply.

Turning his face away from the window and dropping his arm, Snape scowled fiercely at the insufferable man, raising an eyebrow in suspicion and inquiry, as if to say "Well, don't just stand there like a blathering idiot; tell me!"

"You are released. You may return home."

Snape had been longing to hear those very words for days, now. He had since resigned himself to the fact that he would probably be confined to the bed until his trial, simply as some sort of cruel joke, but this supposed good news wasn't without a price.

Not that Snape was about to start smiling like a lunatic and jumping for joy about the room, but what he found out next from the Auror stationed outside his room was not so pleasant. He, Snape, was to stay in his house. He would be monitored by magical wards placed there by the Ministry, and he would still be without his wand. He was to have no contact with the outside world, save a few select individuals at the Ministry, whom he could reach by the Floo Network. Basically, he would under house arrest until his trial.

Snape packed what few things he had with him at St. Mungo's and was returned to his very humble abode, via the Knight Bus, and with an Auror escorting him the whole way. He said not one word the whole time.

The Auror kindly reminded him of the terms that clearly stated he would be a prisoner in his own house, and wished him a good day. Once he was alone, Snape dropped his single bag onto the floor near the front door and sighed, rubbing his temples. He felt a headache coming on.

Glancing around at the familiar surroundings, Snape knew that no one would suspect to come here - to a broken down old milling town. His house was autochthonous amongst the whole town, simply one of many similar homes that had seemingly been there forever. A dingy street and a rundown mill in the backdrop of the depressed town and a dirty stream all gave heed to the fact that this place was a polluted, filthy, forgotten ruin. Passers by who dared to gaze upon the likes of such a place simply shook their heads in disgust, but few even bothered to look in the first place, finding it much easier to simply ignore.

Spinner's End - would he meet his end there?

Snape went to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of whiskey, drowning his sorrows and hiding from the realities of the abominable, wayward world. Slumping onto his threadbare couch, Snape shed his cloak and leaned against the arm, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long swig. Lowering the bottle, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, staring off into space. He couldn't even light a fire if he wanted to - at least not with a simple "_Incendio._"

His thoughts grew muddled as the alcohol took its desired effect, but nothing could stop him from seeing her. Even in this drunken state, she plagued his memory banks, demanding the key to let herself in, as if wanting to know his every dark secret - but why? Try as he might, he simply couldn't push the infernal girl away. No amount of Occlumency could block her out. She had invaded him to the very core, and for the first time, he realized that she had done it slowly - so slowly that he hadn't realized it until now. She was like a latent virus that had lain inconspicuously inside until ready to attack, but whilst hiding, had divided a hundredfold and increased in potency.

Was she deadly, though? No, such a notion was ridiculous! But Snape reckoned she was dangerous, in that she posed a threat to shatter everything he had constructed over years of hard work and dedication. Every wall, every barrier - merely gone within seconds because she had chosen to befriend him and had given him something that no one in a long time had ventured to bestow upon him: her love.

He was now cut open and bleeding out vulnerability through every pore of his being, and he knew she could carve him raw with her double-edged sword if she wanted. But that wasn't what she was doing. No, she had been trying to tend to his wounds, but time and time again, he had barked, snapped, and bitten, driving her away, licking his own wounds, but not healing them. His self-inflicted torment was like licking poisonous venom into lacerations and only fuelling a slow death, making it more painful. He had been avoiding the antidote to his troubles for too long.

But would she ever return? Was it too late? What did it really matter, anyway, when he was already condemned in the eyes of the Ministry and in his own eyes as well?

No doubt the date of his trial was significant. Potter would be there to testify against him. The Ministry was giving Potter a birthday present worth more than any amount of Galleons or fame. Snape knew that Potter had surreptitiously wanted to see him dead, even during the time they had been working side-by-side to find the Horcruxes. He, the man who had murdered Albus Dumbledore, was still considered a threat to wizarding society, and Potter, being the valiant hero who had defeated the Dark Lord, would most likely want to see an end to every dark wizard who had been associated with him.

Meaning to drink himself into a stupor, Snape raised the bottle once again to his lips, only to find it empty. In anguish and frustration, he threw the bottle across the room, where it met its end by hitting the stone fireplace and shattering to pieces. Now, shattered himself, Snape collapsed, in defeat, unto the lumpy couch and surrendered to the inevitability of sleep.

x x x x x

The next morning, he winced in agony as the sunlight hit him squarely in the face, shielding himself once more from its inconsiderate rays. Moaning as he sat upright, he dropped his arm to the side, feeling like he had been run over by a hippogriff. He stood with much effort and shakily made his way to the window, wobbling with the lingering aftermath of the previous night's drinking escapade. He drew the curtains shut, relieved and welcoming the darkness.

He knew he would do well to eat something, but eating was the last thing he felt like doing. Instead, he went to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, resting his forehead on the cool porcelain.

"Mmm, tha' feels good," he slurred.

Snapping back to reality, Snape realized he was rested his head on a _toilet_ and leaned back in disgust, flushing away the contents of his stomach. Using the toilet to help him stand, he swaggered to the sink, where he searched the medicine cabinet for a potion to relieve his headache and nausea. The cabinet contained a mixture of both Muggle painkillers and potions, a testimony to the fact that Spinner's End had once been the home of a Muggle and a witch.

Snape loathed Muggle medicines and so chose an appropriate potion, downing it in one swig. Closing the cabinet, he glared at his reflection in the mirror. At least Muggle mirrors didn't talk like some of those at Hogwarts. He didn't need a mirror to actually tell him in words that he looked like crap.

What did he care what he looked like, anyway? With Hermione most likely gone for good, he had no one to impress, so instead of shaving and combing his hair, he merely left the bathroom and headed upstairs to his old bedroom. The bed was the most welcoming thing he could lay eyes on, and it was _his_ bed, not some stiff, uncomfortable hospital bed.

Shedding his clothes, Snape collapsed onto the bed, completely naked, and pulled the blankets over himself. With everything else gone awry, at least he was home.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The next couple of days were uneventful for Hermione. She started her new job at Flourish and Blotts and found it as enjoyable as she imagined it would be. Knowing that she was dishing out too much money by staying at the Leaky Cauldron, she found a flat in London.

The first day she walked into her new home, she drew in a deep breath as she closed her eyes, and released it, opening them once more. Gazing at the small flat, she knew she had a lot of work ahead of her. She had few possessions, but she didn't know if she would be heading back to Hogwarts in the fall, so she didn't see much point in purchasing anything too large or expensive. Working with what she had, she transfigured a couch, a coffee table, and a bed, impressed with her accomplishments. Professor McGonagall would have been proud.

She was a witch of few means, anyway. Unlike Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, Hermione thought it pointless to own bags of make up and personal hygiene products - not to mention an ungodly load of clothes. She had a few Muggle outfits and about four or five simple robes that would do just fine.

Taking a seat on her couch, Hermione thought she might pass some time by reading, but her mind kept focusing on Snape instead. Sighing, she closed the book and set it aside. It had been three days, and she hadn't spoken with him. She hadn't even tried. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

She knew she could return to St. Mungo's that very moment if she wanted, but a part of her reckoned he wouldn't even be there anymore. He had looked physically well last time she had seen him, so he must have been close to being fully healed. It was a shame that he hadn't acted as well as he had looked.

_Ungrateful, selfish bastard,_ she thought savagely. _What more do I have to do to prove I care about him?_

Her eyes drifted and were caught by the headline of _The Daily Prophet_. Snape's trial was listed among those of Death Eaters who were being brought to justice, and a huge article spanned the front of the paper on the topic, the writer condemning all of them to well-deserved death.

Turning away from the horrid reminder, Hermione found herself feeling ill. She was angry at him, but she didn't want him to die! She didn't want the last time she had seen him to have been whilst walking out after having a row at St. Mungo's. Feeling guilty, Hermione knew what she needed to do to make him realize just how much he meant to her. She would defend him, no matter what the odds, on July 31. She had intended to do so before, but her determination had now grown.

_He may be a git, but he has gotten to me, and I can't just let him go. He won't die, not if I have any say in the matter._

With this fierce resolve, Hermione knew she would need to pay her friends a visit. She had some convincing to do.

x x x x x

After Apparating to the Burrow, Hermione took a moment to take in the familiar surroundings of the lush countryside. She had spent so much time in the city lately that she had forgotten how pleasant the country was - so quiet, so serene. She saw the Weasleys' home off in the distance a couple hundred feet, and taking a deep breath, began her trek toward the smallish house.

Once she reached the front door, she took another breath, composing herself. The last time she had seen her friends, she had basically told them she needed her independence. Although she had meant no harm, she didn't know if they had truly understood her meaning, especially Harry.

Mrs. Weasley answered the door after three steady knocks.

"Hermione!" the matron exclaimed exuberantly. Before Hermione could reply, she was being embraced in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione finally replied once she was able to breathe again. "Er, how are you?"

"I'm fine, dear, just fine. The question is - How are you? I've been worried sick about you, especially after you just- just left! Hermione, what were you thinking? You could have been-"

Holding up a hand to silence the older witch, Hermione stated firmly yet kindly, "I'm okay. Trust me, Mrs. Weasley. Don't worry about me. I've got a job and my own place and everything."

Mrs. Weasley seemed like she still had something to say on the matter, but before she could go any further, Ron and Ginny entered the kitchen, having overheard their mother. Smiles spread on both of their faces upon seeing Hermione.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ginny, running to her friend and hugging her. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you, too, Ginny... I've missed all of you." Graciously returning the hug, Hermione looked over Ginny's shoulder and saw Harry coming into the room.

"Good to see you, 'Mione," chimed in Ron. "How're things?"

"Things are fine," Hermione replied. "I just- thought I'd drop by and say hello."

Harry was now standing a couple feet away, but he still hadn't said anything. He had a look on his face that was a mixture of a glare and a shock to be seeing her.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said tentatively, eyeing her friend closely.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be back any time soon," Harry stated.

"I never-" Hermione stopped herself before she could become aggravated over his words. "Let's go sit down. There's a lot I need to talk with you about."

"All right," Ron said, motioning for them to follow him into the living room.

Harry kept his arms folded over his chest on the way into the room and took a seat. Ginny sat next to Hermione on the couch, and Ron sat on the floor, not minding.

"Let me guess," Harry murmured. "It's about Snape."

"Well... yes," Hermione hesitated.

"Of course, it's always about Snape, now, isn't it?" asked Harry sarcastically.

"Harry, please," Hermione pleaded. "Don't you think after everything you've both been through together that you could have a little more of an open mind?"

"He's never given me reason to, and I certainly don't see him making an effort."

"Look," she stated, getting down to business. "I don't want to argue about Severus. You know as well as the rest of the wizarding world that his trial is only three weeks away, on your birthday! I intend to testify on his behalf, and I think you should, too." Glancing at all her friends, she added, "All of you."

Both Ron and Ginny had stunned expressions on their faces, but Harry was angry and speechless.

"Uh, sure, Hermione," Ginny said carefully, "but I don't see what I could say that would be of much help."

"You were there with us the whole time when we were looking for the Horcruxes, Ginny. You saw with your own eyes the work he did for us, what he was willing to sacrifice."

"Well, yeah..."

The red-headed girl didn't seem too sure, and neither did Ron. Ron grimaced, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not good at talking in front of large crowds," he mumbled, blushing.

"Ronald!" admonished Hermione. "A man's life is at stake, and all you can say is that you aren't good at talking in front of large crowds?"

"Sorry," he muttered. "But it's true."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "You lot are impossible!"

"What d'you expect, Hermione?" questioned Harry heatedly. "He may have helped us, but like I told you, that doesn't change the fact that he murdered - yes, murdered - Dumbledore. You weren't there that night, watching, helpless, as Snape simply raised his wand and spoke those horrible words like they were nothing. He looked at Dumbledore like he despised him with every ounce of his being. Maybe he was just sitting on the fence during the whole war, weighing the odds in his favor, and would simply join up with the side that he thought would win in the end. He's a Slytherin, Hermione! Slytherins would do anything to get what they want-"

"Rubbish!" Hermione yelled. "You're just as prejudiced as they - the Slytherins - are, Harry! Who cares about school houses? They don't define who you are as a person. Everyone has the potential to be what they choose to be. I thought you would have realized that by now, Harry. Didn't Dumbledore once tell you that it's our choices, not our abilities, that make us who we are?"

"Y- yes," Harry hesitated, sobering a little. "But explain to me how you plan to justify his actions."

"His actions are what have defined him, Harry," Hermione insisted. "He was always horrible to us, saying cruel, cutting remarks, but he always did the right thing in the end. He's saved your life many times, Harry, and you know that Dumbledore's death was planned. Dumbledore submitted to his own fate; he wanted you to get Severus that night you returned after you had fed him that poison. If Severus hadn't killed him, he would have died from the poison - that you gave him! Severus had no choice, Harry! It was either his life, Malfoy's, and probably others' lives - or Dumbledore's."

Harry, of course, knew all this. He had been through similar conversations with Hermione over the past year, but he still hadn't come to fully accept any of it. He was determined to hate Snape.

Hermione hadn't realized it, but Mrs. Weasley had overheard them and had stepped into the room, listening to much of what was said. From the entrance, the older witch said, "Harry, dear, she's right, you know. I have a hard time understanding it all, but think about it, dear. You hold the power to determining Severus's fate. I would ask you to choose wisely."

Ron and Ginny were surprised to hear their mother speak of Snape in such a manner. She had never really said much regarding the man, but rather, she had quietly listened as others would speak about Snape, carefully discerning for herself what was true and what was not. Hermione was relieved to have someone back her up.

Harry scowled at them. "I don't know what to say," he confessed. "I- know you're right, but... I don't like it."

"You'd be doing the right thing, Harry, if you testify on Severus's behalf," Hermione urged. "If you don't trust him, at least trust me." She regarded him with pleading eyes.

Harry was silent for a long time, and the others knew he was intently thinking, weighing his options. Finally, releasing a long sigh, Harry said, "Fine, fine. But if I never see his ugly face again after that day, I'll be glad."

Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him or slap him. She was happy he would defend Snape, a man she knew Harry would probably loath the rest of his life, but she was annoyed that Harry had called him ugly.

_Just because he's not what most would consider classically handsome... that doesn't mean he's ugly,_ she thought indignantly.

The group of friends broke up for a little while, and Hermione later found herself in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner.

"Thank you," Hermione sincerely told her.

"What ever for, dear?"

"For just... saying what you said earlier. A lot of people wouldn't have done that."

Placing the dough down that she had been kneading, Mrs. Weasley turned her face to Hermione, smiled, and said, "Yes, but there is something to be said for the truth, Hermione."

Hermione smiled in return, and an idea suddenly came to her. "Mrs. Weasley, I don't suppose you might be able to tell me where Severus lives?"


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Two days later, Hermione was standing on the doorstep of what she hoped was the right house. The whole walk through the town had been an eye-opener to her. She had never expected him to live in such a rundown, depressed place as this, and as she raised her hand to knock on the door, she grimly thought how appropriate Spinner's End was for a person like Snape.

She knocked her usual three times in a row, steady and not too fast. Waiting, she heard nothing inside the house. The nearby trees were rustling gently in the midsummer breeze, and the wind was playing with her hair, but other than that, everything was still and quiet. For a moment, Hermione was ready to give up and walk away, assuming she either had the wrong address or he wasn't home. Or maybe he didn't want to be bothered.

Frowning at the prospect of the last part of her thinking, she knocked again, only louder and more persistently. If he was inside, she would make sure he answered his door. It was for his own good.

Her patience growing thin, Hermione sighed and was about to peek into the nearest window when the door creaked open a small amount. She saw a shadow of a man, his face mostly hidden by curtains of black hair. He didn't say anything.

"S- Severus?" she ventured timidly, stepping closer.

He opened the door a fraction, the light shining in a little more and illuminating his nose. She could now see his eyes staring back at her - empty and devoid of emotion.

"Severus, please... Can I come in?" She gave him a hopeful look.

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and the door was opened just wide enough to admit her. He stepped aside, allowing her passage. As soon as she was inside, he closed the door, gazing down at her, not saying a word. He wasn't glaring, at least. But he wasn't smiling, either. As Hermione gazed at his impassive face, she wasn't sure what to say, what to do.

She had a small bag with her, which she placed on the floor, before turning her attention back to the broken man in front of her. Silently, she took two steps toward him, closing the small distance between them, and placed a hand on his arm. Hesitantly, she gently brought her arms around him, embracing him. For a few seconds, he stiffened and didn't otherwise respond to her touch, but then, she felt two arms wrap themselves around her waist, clutching onto her desperately, as if to never let go. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. She could feel him shaking, and moved by compassion, she slowly moved her hands in small circles up and down his back, comforting him.

After a while, Hermione released her hold on him and moved back just slightly, so she could see his face. She brought a hand to his cheek and caressed it. He had reluctantly unwrapped his arms and had let them fall loosely to his sides.

"Oh, Severus," she murmured, taking in his ragged state. "What has happened to you?"

"I- " he tried to speak, his voice raspy. "I thought I had lost you."

Trying not to cry, Hermione's voice was trembling when she said, "No, never. Never think that, please, Severus. It was just a silly argument."

He shook his head. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. He had had several days to himself to think about things, mostly involving her, the woman who had chosen to love him, in spite of everything. He longed to tell her that he never wanted to lose her again, never wanted to feel the way he had felt this past week... to tell her that he loved her, even if he only had a couple weeks left to live.

But he didn't need to say anything. Every thought, every emotion, every desire was written in his eyes, and Hermione knew, without a doubt, that everything about him was genuine. She found herself embracing him once more, thanking the powers that be that she had not lost him.

Once they had both overcome their initial reactions to seeing each other again, Hermione regarded Snape intently, realizing he looked awful. He hadn't shaven for the better part of a week, and his hair was quite greasy (more so than usual) from lack of washing. It also was tangled and limp. Obviously, he had not been taking proper care of himself. Upon closer inspection, his eyes were revealed to be bloodshot and had the look of one whom had been burned at both ends for too long.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Hermione asked.

"It is irrelevant," Snape replied, setting him mouth in a firm line. He was already resorting to being disagreeable.

"Severus," Hermione said with a withering sigh. "I can tell just by looking at you that you haven't taken care of yourself. Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look a right mess. And before you get angry again, I'm only trying to help. I don't want every time I see you to result in arguing over things that aren't worth getting angry about in the first place. You need to eat something, and then you need to clean up, plain and simple. I'll have no back-talk." She beheld him with a piercing gaze that dared him to disagree.

Stunned, Snape didn't think he could protest if he wanted. He was too worn out, anyway, to bother picking a fight, and if he had learned anything from the last time they had been together, it was to hold his tongue. He complied and allowed himself to be at her mercy.

She led him into the kitchen, bringing the bag with her. He eyed it questioningly.

"You don't honestly think I'd come unprepared, do you?" she asked, smiling a little.

"You? Unprepared? Hardly likely," he replied with a smirk.

"Indeed," she said, much in the manner he would have.

She emptied the bag, revealing several gorcery items. She was appalled that the Ministry hadn't said anything about the delivery of grocery items to his home while he was forced to remain there. Did they simply want the poor man to starve to death?

She quickly prepared a simple lunch and sat down at the table with him. She watched, a bit amused, as he devoured the soup and sandwich like a rabidly hungry man, which he probably was. Once he had eaten, he was already looking better - not as much on edge.

Hermione told him she would clean up the kitchen if he agreed to clean himself up. Snape felt like a child again, being ordered by a woman who was standing in his own kitchen. He was somewhat amused by her persistent attitude, finding her very attractive when she was like that.

He soon found himself in the bathroom, showering thoroughly and washing his hair. All the rude remarks about his hair being greasy would have been amplified if people had seen the condition of his hair presently. He didn't normally allow it to get this bad.

Once clean, he shaved, disgusted at himself for allowing his condition to become this bad. He didn't like the way he looked in a beard, even the beginning of one.

Soon enough, he was dressed in fresh robes (black, of course) and had returned to the kitchen. Not only had Hermione cleaned up the mess from preparing lunch, but she had put away all the groceries and had truly cleaned the kitchen.

"Thank you," he simply said, glancing around the kitchen.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling back. "You look nice. Do you feel better?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I guess... I just didn't see much point in anything these past few days."

She went to him, and taking his hand, led him into the sitting room. Hermione was amazed by all the books. She wasn't surprised, though.

"Quite a collection you have here," she mused, taking a seat on the couch.

"Yes, well, most of them were inherited." He shrugged. "As you can plainly see, my home isn't pleasant." He sat as well, on the other side of the couch.

"It could be," she said with hope. "It just needs a little T.L.C."

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "T.L.C.?"

"Tender, loving care." _Just as you need._

A pause followed, and Hermione blushed. He was so imposing, especially when he was quiet, and she couldn't keep him from getting inside her heart. She moved closer to him, until she was sitting right next to him. Bringing an arm around her, Snape pulled her close, forgetting his worries, and simply basking in the moment. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Focusing on the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest, she felt herself growing drowsy. They were both at peace.

"This - right here, right now - is all I ever needed," he whispered, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

She had fallen asleep in his arms.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

When Hermione opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything at first. The sun had set, causing darkness to fill the air, and she couldn't say how long she had been asleep. Hermione gave her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, allowing her to make out her nearby surroundings.

Hearing soft snoring, she remembered that she had fallen asleep in Snape's arms. They were lying on his lumpy couch in the squalid living room of a house too often left desolate.

Hermione couldn't imagine a more comfortable place to be right now, for she was with him.

She reluctantly sat up and stretched, turning around to see the man behind her. The gentle moonlight was glistening off his white skin, making him appear porcelain. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face and studied his features for a while, taking in the enigma of the man who lay before her.

He was one complex man, this Severus Snape... and yet, however it had come to be, he had allowed her in. She felt him strangely beautiful as she gazed upon him.

Reflecting further on the mysterious man in front of her, Hermione realized that, even though he had let her inside, there was still much that remained unknown about him. As she gazed at her surroundings, she recognized that even though she had been given access to his home, it held mysteries she could not understand. Just as he did.

Ever one to ask questions, Hermione could already feel them forming in her head. What had his childhood been like growing up in this house? What had his parents been like? What had happened to them?

Spinner's End had an overwhelming feeling of neglect about it, which seemed all too convenient for its inhabitant. Since his parents were dead (that much he had told her) and he had lived at Hogwarts ten months out of the year for several years, it wasn't like his home would have been occupied much at all -nor did Snape have any reason to keep it up nicely. Smiling to herself, Hermione couldn't imagine Snape being the type to place interior decorating high on his priority list.

Coming out of her drifting thoughts, Hermione wondered what time it was. Standing up, she went to the fireplace, where a mantel clock rested above the grate. It was nine o'clock.

Sighing, she wondered if she had over-stayed her welcome. He should probably have gone to bed by now, but she couldn't just leave - not without saying goodbye. She returned to him and caressed his cheek, then leaned over and planted a kiss there. Hoping her ministrations might rouse him, Hermione waited. He stirred.

When Snape first opened his eyes, he wondered what was going on. Then, he saw her face.

"Hermione?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Severus, it's me," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." He rubbed his eyes and sat up. "What time is it?"

"Just after nine."

He started for a second, then stopped, surprised at himself for allowing sleep to overtake him that long. "I'm sorry if I kept you here too long-" he started to say, but Hermione placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

"Don't be silly," she scolded gently.

He frowned. "I can't help it." He stopped, then continued hesitantly, "Surely you have better things to do with your time than waste it looking after me."

"Severus Snape!" Hermione truly scolded this time. "I won't hear it! What I do with my time is my prerogative. Merlin knows what would have happened to you if I hadn't come by."

He stood stiffly and walked away, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. With only the moonlight to see by, Hermione watched as his silhouette paced the room.

_Not this again,_ she thought, annoyed. _Why can't his pride let him simply accept help?_

"Must you be so difficult?" she asked, beginning to pace as well. She stopped, directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. She placed her hands on her hips and fixed him with a penetrating glare. "For the last time, Severus," she said with a withering sigh, "you are not a waste of my time. In fact, I quite _enjoy_ spending time with you."

He snorted. "I still find that hard to believe, Hermione," he challenged. "Are you enjoying yourself presently?" He raised an eyebrow at her, even though she couldn't see it.

"That's an unfair question, and you know it, you obstinate man." She threw her hands up in the air and made to leave, but she was stopped by a hand grabbing her around the wrist.

He persistently pulled her to him. "You realize I was merely joking," he stated.

Hermione was about to protest but lost her words. Giving him a dumbfounded expression, she asked, "Which part?"

"The part when I asked you if you were enjoying yourself presently, you silly girl," Snape said silkily.

There was a teasing undertone to his voice, and Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine.

"You evil man," she mumbled, shaking her head. She was, however, amused.

"Indeed," he purred, pulling her to him and embracing her fully.

Hermione melted into his embrace, and they remained that way for a while. Like all good things, it had to end, though.

"It's late," Snape said with a sigh. "You should go."

Hermione knew he was right, but she longed to stay, if only a little longer. A part of her wanted to stay the night, but she knew he was a private person, and she didn't want to intrude. Besides, this was the first time she had ever been to his house, and she didn't think it would be appropriate to ask to sleep there. She wondered if he would even allow such a thing.

_Probably not,_ Hermione thought.

Snape must have noticed something was wrong, for even though he could barely see her face, the silence was looming and awkward.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired.

"Nothing," she replied, a bit too quickly.

"You are a terrible liar, Hermione," Snape retorted, shaking his head.

"It's nothing important," she confessed, although her thoughts were more important to her than she realized. Glad he couldn't see her blushing, Hermione added, "Don't worry about it. It's nothing bad, I assure you."

Snape dropped the subject and went to the kitchen to retrieve a couple of candles. He was just about to light them when Hermione pulled out her wand, saying, "Allow me."

With a flick of the wand, the two candles were lit. She hadn't spoken a word.

"Impressive," Snape remarked wryly.

"Oh, shush, you," Hermione said. "You know I've mastered being able to say the spells in my head since sixth year."

"Yes, one of the few who managed to do so, if I recall correctly," Snape murmured.

Hermione thought of the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Snape had taught during her sixth year. That seemed so very long ago, although it hadn't even been quite two years. She knew Snape was thinking the same thing.

"Do you think you'd ever return to teaching?" she ventured.

"Doubtful," he sneered. "I never liked teaching, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Okay, stupid question. What would you do, then?"

"You mean, if I am free?" he asked sardonically.

"Please, Severus, just imagine for a moment - What would you do with your life?"

"Something private and quiet... where I don't have to answer to anyone but myself and where I don't have to be bothered by idiots."

Hermione nodded pensively. "I don't even know what autumn holds, let alone the future beyond that," she murmured. "I don't know if I'm to return to Hogwarts or not. It would be awfully strange to be there again after all that's happened, not to mention I'd be a year older."

Snape shrugged. Hogwarts didn't concern him any longer, but he did care about Hermione's future. "Whatever you do, I have no doubts that you will excel," he simply stated.

Hermione gave him a grateful smile. Then, stifling a yawn, Hermione gazed at the clock, realizing that nearly a half hour had passed already.

"You should go," Snape stated. "You're tired."

"I'm not that tired," she argued half-heartedly.

Casting her a disbelieving look, Snape led her to the door. "I am most gracious for your kindness, Hermione," he admitted.

"The food was nothing. Don't worry about it," she replied.

"I don't mean the food," he said.

Moving closer to him, she asked, "What did you mean?"

She knew what he had meant.

"You."

She could feel his breath tickling her lips, and giving him a searching gaze, she half-closed her eyes, inhaling with anticipation. A moment passed and nothing happened. She sighed and drooped her shoulders when she felt him back away.

"Good night, Hermione," he murmured. Then, he tentatively leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, right above the mouth.

"Good... night."

She left through the front door and placed a hand over the spot he had just graced with his tender lips.

_If only he had dared kiss a little lower and to the left..._


	13. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating! I was on vacation last week, came back, and was so busy that I seriously couldn't update till now! Don't worry about delays like this happening all the time!

To make up for it, I'm sure you'll love this chapter. Many thanks to my betas, Deb and Catie.

Chapter Twelve

When Hermione returned home that night, she could still feel her heart beating fervently after she closed the door to her flat. Leaning against the door, she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes, unable to keep a smile from creeping on to her face. She could still feel the touch of his lips as they brushed against the soft skin near her mouth, and that feeling of pure elation was as strong as ever.

_I think I'm falling in love with you, Severus,_ she thought. _Do you have any idea what you do to me?_

Reluctantly, Hermione went to bed, but she hoped her dreams would be pleasant... more than pleasant. As she drifted into the land of slumber, she longed for the dark-haired, velvety-voiced man to take her into his arms and never let go...

The next couple of days were busy ones for Hermione. She had to work from the time the bookshop opened until the time it closed. She knew she needed the money, but she found it difficult to think of anything or anyone else but Snape. The young lady whose passion had always been books and knowledge now possessed a new passion, and as the second long day drew to a close, she grew antsy, wanting desperately to leave work and pay him another visit.

The moment she was dismissed, Hermione Apparated back home and changed her clothes and freshened up a bit. She idly wondered if he was properly taking care of himself in her absence. She had left plenty of food with him, but she knew he placed his own well-being rather low on his list of priorities.

With more food and a couple of books in hand, Hermione Disapparated and appeared a few meters away from Snape's house. She made sure to aim for some overgrown shrubs, not wanting to pop out in thin air in front of unsuspecting Muggles.

The air was thick and muggy, and as the hot summer sun beat down on her, she breathed in the dust from the roads. She wondered if this depressed place would ever be revamped. Why had Snape bothered to remain in the place he had grown up if it was so rundown? As she walked toward his home, many questions about his past, especially when he was growing up, returned to her restless mind. Maybe she would just have to ask him.

She raised her hand to knock, when the door suddenly flew open. Taken by surprise, Hermione stared straight ahead and couldn't find her voice as Snape reached for her, grabbing her by the wrist and quickly pulling her inside. Before she knew what was going on, she was in a bone-crushing embrace.

She returned the embrace and giggled. "Happy to see me, are you?" she ventured, feigning frivolity.

Snape was not a man who normally showed his emotions so openly, so that made his recent display all the more startling - not that Hermione was complaining.

"What gave it away?" he returned sarcastically with a grin.

"Were you watching for me?" Hermione asked.

"Is this a game of questions?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently," Hermione said with a laugh.

"You ended it," Snape stated, pretending to be hurt that the game was over.

She playfully smacked him, very lightly, on the arm. "I take it you were looking out the window?"

"Oh? Has the game begun again?"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wondered where this side of Snape had come from and figured he had perhaps been locked inside his house too long. She wasn't about to ask, seeing as that would be yet another question to fuel the fire.

"It's good to see you," Hermione said, sobering. She looked him up and down and was satisfied. "You look good, too."

"I try to make an impression," Snape replied smoothly.

The next hour was spent in much of the same playful banter they had been doing since the moment of Hermione's arrival. They ate lunch and cleaned up, then retired to the living room, where silence took over.

Hermione surveyed the shelves of books, and Snape watched her.

"If you want to see one of them, just take one down," he said.

"No, it's not that. I was just looking. Speaking of books, have you done much reading lately?"

"Hardly," Snape murmured. "My eyes are unfortunately betraying me."

"It wasn't just a temporary thing, then," Hermione said. "You could always take my suggestion and get some reading glasses."

Snape scowled.

"Lots of people wear glasses," Hermione pointed out.

"Like Potter," he spat.

"Well... yes. But so what? My father wears glasses. Dumbledore-" She stopped herself, but it was too late. Mention of the late headmaster was never a good idea in front of Snape.

"I hardly need reminding," Snape said darkly, glowering. "It doesn't matter. Chances are I'll be condemned to either rot in Azkaban or receive the Dementor's Kiss in a few weeks' time. Besides, there isn't much that can be done. Maybe I'm just getting old."

"You are not old, Severus," Hermione argued, "and you aren't going to be condemned. I told you that I intend to defend you, and trust me, you'll have many people there who will defend you, including Harry."

He snorted, disbelieving her. He chose to pursue the age debate over the more serious one, probably to divert Hermione from talking about the upcoming trial. "I'm twenty years older than you, Hermione. What you see in me to begin with, I have no idea. I daresay if anyone needs glasses, it would be you. You must not see clearly if you can stand to look at the likes of me."

He was provoking her and feeling sorry for himself, which further forced her on the defensive - for both their sakes. "Stop it, Severus," she stated firmly. They were sitting on the couch, and she closed in on him, not giving him room to move away. "What happened to your good mood from just hours ago? Never mind. You clearly need a lesson in self-worth. First of all, I don't care if you're twenty years older than me. In the wizarding world, where people live twice as long as Muggles, you are still quite young, so the age difference means even less. Secondly, I like you just the way you are - inside and out. You may not be what most consider classically handsome, but you are an attractive man, whether you believe it or not. You have distinguishing features and a graceful way about you when you move, and your voice is downright sexy." She blushed, but then continued, "I could get lost in your eyes; they're so deep... just like you. You're a complex, intelligent, loyal, witty, _good_ man, Severus, and I... I love you."

Severus was stunned. His jaw should have been hitting the floor right about now. Clearly uncomfortable with the tension, he broke the silence with a rather ridiculous question. "You... love me? Even this part of me?" He pointed to his nose.

Hermione smiled at him tenderly and nodded, leaning forward and kissing his nose. There was nothing mocking about the way in which she kissed him. She truly did love his nose, along with the rest of him, of course. The poor, confused man was merely having the hardest time trying to grasp this newfound concept, however.

"Hermione," he choked. "Are you sure you know what you're saying?"

"Dear, silly man," she gently chided, "will you ever stop with the questions?" Laughing at herself, she said, "I guess I ought to stop with the questions as well."

"Ask as many questions as you wish, love, but before you do, there is something I would like to show you."

Perplexed, Hermione asked, "Yes?"

Cupping her chin, Severus brought her face to his, slowly and steadily. This was it - this was the moment she had been waiting for. The hot breath, the trepidation, the stopping of time... and the feel of his lips finally locking with hers, bringing them together, finally, amazingly, triumphantly in some sort of fantastic victory.

The only thing needed to complete such perfection were the words that followed from his mouth afterward.

"I love you, Hermione."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Hermione wondered if she should pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Had he just said he loved her?

She spent several minutes leaning against him, his arms wrapped loosely around her torso, as they lounged on his couch. Outside, the sun had disappeared and given way to clouds, but the dreariness of the afternoon that day couldn't bring down Hermione's spirit. She sighed contently, simply basking in the lovely feeling of being in his strong arms and of hearing his steady heartbeat thumping behind her head as it rested on his chest.

For Severus, he was now in a daze. He vaguely realized that it had started raining. He felt as if the pitter-patter of the raindrops could lull him into a deep sleep if he let them.

As he was beginning to nod off, Hermione's voice brought him back. "Severus?"

"Mmm?" he mumbled drowsily.

"Tell me about your past."

Those five simple words hung in the air, awaiting his response. He closed his eyes, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. After having quite enjoyed himself in her company, she had to shatter it with such a request. To most people, it wouldn't have been a big deal, but Severus was not one to be open about his past. He was ashamed of it and had long ago chosen to bury it in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"Why do you want to know?" he grumbled, moving a bit.

Unsettled, Hermione sat up and turned to face him. Casting him a searching gaze, she took each of his hands in hers and gently squeezed them.

"I don't mean to upset you, Severus," she explained sincerely. "It's just- well, I'm in your house and with you, and I know so little about this place and about you. You're the man I love. Doesn't that count for anything? Don't you want to share with me what you wouldn't share with others?"

Severus frowned and sighed heavily. "Hermione," he groaned, somewhat pained. "I still don't see the point-"

"Please?" she pleaded. "I want to know what made you into the man you are today. Nothing you could say would deter me from loving you, understand? You think I'm going to judge you and push you away after everything we've been through together?"

Her desperate tone was making Severus clearly uncomfortable. He never dealt with feelings well, whether his own or someone else's. "I- I don't know," he stammered, agitated.

She could sense he was bristling with hurt and discomfort, which only fuelled her compassion more. "Severus, please... my sweet Severus, have more faith in yourself, in me... in us."

Her soft, brown eyes were glassy and begging. He blinked a couple of times, unable to fully grasp how anyone could love him so dearly, but having come to embrace this profound love himself, he knew he would be making the biggest mistake of his life if he dared push it away now... if he dared push her away.

"Of course I do, love," Severus reassured the young lady in front of him. "I just... it's not anything pretty, Hermione," he said grimly.

"I don't expect you to try and impress me, Severus," Hermione said clemently. "I only want the truth, is all."

"Very well," he gave in, letting his shoulders drop, almost in defeat. "As you know, I grew up in this house. You already know that my mother was a witch, and my father was a Muggle. You know their names as well, so I won't go into that. To put it simply, my mum never told my father she was a witch when she first married him. When I was born, things changed soon enough. At a very early age, I started showing magical abilities, more than most magical children. My father was stunned and wondered what was wrong with me, and it was then that my mother had to admit to him that she was a witch. He was beside himself with anger for having been deceived and never let her live it down from that day. In fact, he forbade her from ever using magic in front of him or in the house.

"He worked in the mill nearby, and when he wasn't at work, he was at the pub drinking. He would stumble through the front door late at night, oftentimes so intoxicated, he didn't even know who his wife or son were. He was verbally abusive to my mother and had a short temper, and as I grew older, he was constantly berating me, saying I was a freak. He took to striking my mother by the time I was six, and at that tender age, I decided to stand up to him and protect my mum. Little good it did. I was so much smaller and weaker than my father. I took to reading many of the books that still line these shelves, books that belonged to the Prince family, a Pureblood wizard line. I taught myself what magic I could, even though I was without a wand. In my quest to protect my mother and myself, that was the first time I dabbled in Dark magic, desperate to do anything to keep my horrible father from harming us.

"What was meant to be a good thing turned rotten, and as you know, I was accused of knowing more hexes and curses than much older students by the time I entered Hogwarts. When I started at Hogwarts, I thought for the first time that perhaps I would have real friends. Being surrounded by others like me, I thought for sure that they would understand, but I was sorted into Slytherin, having no idea what that meant - that I would be shunned by the other three houses and basically condemned to a dark and dismal fate from the moment of my sorting.

"I was naive and inexperienced and trusted too easily, a very foolish thing to do in Slytherin. So desperate in my attempt to make friends, I was easily swayed by the likes of Lucius Malfoy, who was much older than I was. By my third year, he had graduated, and I was left to my own devices. Malfoy only saw in me a vessel to be used for his bidding or by those more powerful than myself, so he was not a real friend, even though my young, delusional self was convinced otherwise.

"To be honest, the only true friend I ever had was Lily."

"Harry's mother?" Hermione interjected, unable to stop herself.

"Yes," Severus confirmed. "We were partners in Potions from day one. As Slughorn gloated time and again to you, she was brilliant at Potions. Together, we were a cut above and beyond all others at the art of potion-making. She was kind without reservation and asked nothing in return. No strings attached was a hard concept to grasp, as I grew suspicious and on edge around the other students the longer I was at Hogwarts, but I could always trust Lily. Before you, Hermione, she was the only woman to have ever shown me any modicum of kindness. We studied together and were good friends. I had feelings for her that were perhaps bordering on romantic, but I have no idea to this day if she ever considered me anything more than a friend."

"I'm sure she cared very much about you, Severus," Hermione said, hoping she sounded reassuring. From everything she had heard so far, she wasn't too surprised to learn that Severus's life growing up had been so horrible. She wished she could change it for him, could have known him when he was a child, a youth, a young adult.

"She did... until that incident at the end of fifth year, which I'm sure Potter has enlightened you about," Severus spat, contorting his face into a grimace.

Giving him a confused look, Hermione replied, "What are you talking about, Severus? Harry never told me anything about that."

He gave her a disbelieving, withering look. "Please, Hermione, don't lie just to spare my feelings. No doubt Potter went running to Weasley and you the moment he found out during your fifth year. The nosy brat looked inside the Pensieve during those accursed Occlumency lessons Dumbledore insisted I give the ungrateful boy. He sneaked into my _private_ memories, Hermione. He saw the damage done that day - how his father and his lackey friends used me yet again as bait for their tricks."

Flushing red in annoyance and hurt, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and stood. "How dare you accuse me of lying to you!" she yelled. "No, for your information, you insufferable bastard, he never said anything to either Ron or me!"

Severus realized the severe folly in his assumption immediately and felt remorse penetrating his being. "I just assumed-" he tried to say.

"Yes, you assumed; how bloody convenient to just put the blame on Harry like you always do."

"Now, wait a minute! That's an unfair accusation, Hermione! How many times has your precious Potter blamed _me_, hmmm?" Severus was now standing and pacing, glaring daggers at Hermione.

"Fine, fine, you're right, happy?" she asked sardonically, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "But I'm tired of trying to be the mediator between you two. What good does it do to hold on to a grudge that should have been buried years ago? Yes, Severus, Harry's father was a prat. He hurt you, but Harry's not his father. He may have been stupid and reckless for going into your memories like that, but the very fact that he didn't blab to Ron and me proves that he must have had at least some remorse for what he had done."

What she said sounded reasonable, but a part of Severus still wanted to hold on to the grudge. He was afraid to let go on some level. Dropping into one of the armchairs, he then dropped his head into his hands.

"I know you're right," he finally admitted, "but it's been so long since I've let go..."

Going to him, Hermione placed a hand on his back and rubbed slow circles there. "Let it go, Severus, please... It's not worth holding onto something that only causes you pain. That was a long time ago. What happened, happened, but you do yourself no good in holding onto all this bitterness."

Bitterness had eaten at Severus for years now, and sometimes he wondered if any part of him was left unharmed. He wasn't the lanky teenager he had been when Lily had come to his aid that afternoon by the lake when the Marauders had humiliated him in front of dozens of students. Reluctantly, he explained to Hermione what had transpired that day, how he had been embarrassed in front of Lily, of all people.

"Boys never want a girl to come to their rescue. It was quite humiliating, and I was already beyond humiliation at the point. In my own misery, I lashed out and called her a Mudblood, and that was the beginning of the unraveling of our friendship. In one afternoon, I had ruined what had taken five years to build. By our seventh year, she no longer would even look at me, even during Potions. She finally fell under James Potter's spell, and you know what happened from there.

"Having no one anymore, I turned to the Dark Arts even more. I craved knowledge and power, wanting to hurt those who had hurt me. At home, my mother had become mentally ill, and my father was as drunk as ever. Having no one else to turn to, I sought out Lucius, and he told me of a wizard who was rising to power, who would grant his followers everything they wanted, if only they served him. To a young, desperate, pathetic wizard like myself, all that sounded very enticing. I imagined finally having friends. What an utterly foolish notion!" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

"Shortly after graduation, I took the Dark Mark. For three years, I was a part of the Dark Lord's schemes. I did things that I dare not even mention, but you know what he was about, Hermione. I did anything he asked, without caring a wit about the consequences. You know about the Prophecy and how I overheard it. You know I shortly thereafter went to Dumbledore when I found out its implications - who would be targeted, specifically. I still cared about Lily, and the thought of her life being in danger was enough to wake me up. When I turned myself in to Dumbledore, I didn't expect mercy. I thought I would be sent to Azkaban, and deservedly-so. But he was a brilliant, forgiving wizard. He told me I could spy for him and that I was to go back to my other master and convince him to allow me to spy on the side of light. The Dark Lord was convinced that he had me as his trusty spy, and shortly thereafter, Dumbledore trained me in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. He offered me the position of teaching Potions, even though it wasn't what I wished to teach, which you know as well, and the rest is history, I suppose."

"What happened to your parents?" Hermione asked, for he had not elaborated further. She always imagined they had died from something tragic.

"My mother died from natural causes, not even knowing me in the end, and my father died from liver poisoning," Severus stated.

Hermione was surprised. She never thought they could have died from things that kill average people, but then again, it wasn't like Severus's family had been involved with Voldemort or really against him. She assumed people died from the first war during Severus's teenage and young adult years, but that was definitely not true.

Since he had finished telling the tale of his life's story, Severus leaned back in the chair, sighing and closing his eyes. It seemed the very telling of those past events had worn the poor man out. Moved, Hermione sat on the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around him, offering him what comfort she could. He must not have been expecting such affection, for Severus jumped at first, but then he simply melted into her care.

"Thank you for telling me," Hermione murmured into his ear. She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and breathed in his scent. Her breath tickled his neck, and she smiled, kissing him there.

Severus brought one of his arms around her waist and coaxed her onto his lap, where she cuddled close, tucking her head under his chin. He embraced her fully now and remained silent, the quiet reassurance that he was grateful he had not scared her away.

After some time, Hermione glanced up at him, saying, "I know it wasn't easy for you to tell me those things, Severus, but your having told me means a lot to me. I just wanted you to know that." She kissed him tenderly on the cheek, and he mumbled something incoherent.

"What's that?" she enquired.

"I'm glad you're still here," he choked out.

"Of course, you silly man," she said affectionately. "You think I would go somewhere?"

"I don't know... maybe. Maybe when you heard about the terrible decisions I had made, you wouldn't have wanted to be with me any longer."

"Nonsense. I told you before, and I'm telling you again - I love you, Severus. Loving someone means loving the whole person, and I _do_ love all of you, even the parts that have been tainted. When I look at you, I see a man who's had a horridly unfair life, but through it all, you have chosen to follow what's right when it really mattered. You didn't know when you were younger that your choices would have cost you so much, but unlike most people, you learned from your mistakes, and you owned up to them. You don't owe anybody anything, except owing yourself some long-overdue happiness."

"Perhaps... all is not lost," he murmured, amazed by how deep and profound her words were. He would have thought a soul much older than Hermione's eighteen-year-old self was living in the young lady in front of him. There was no doubt that she was wise beyond her years.

"You are not lost, Severus. I won't ever let you become lost again."

He felt hollowed to the core, having spilled his past secrets to Hermione, but in emptying himself of his demons, he had cleansed himself without realizing it. Now, Severus was prepared to start life anew, with the beautiful, young lady beside him. In his heart of hearts, he hoped that was the case.

"I don't deserve you, you know," Severus conceded, "but I'm not complaining by any means. I do know that I want you - that I, in fact, need you."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The days of summer stretched out, and the end of July was rapidly approaching, meaning the looming trial was just around the corner. Hermione continued to pay regular visits to Spinner's End, spending whole afternoons and evenings with her beloved Severus whenever possible. She would have come every day if she didn't have to work, but that was not the reality of things.

He grew physically stronger with the passing days, nourished by the food and the company of the pretty, young woman who had come to love him. Every time Hermione said she needed to be going, it was with great reluctance that Severus saw her to the door. On more than one occasion, especially in the past week, he had desired to have her stay the night, but he didn't want to push his luck.

He didn't want to become any intoxicatingly closer to her than he had already. She was a magnet that attracted him, no matter what his cynical mind insisted - that it was a foolish endeavor to believe this arrangement could last.

For Hermione's part, she would only bring up the trial when she felt the necessity, which was more often than Severus would have wanted it. Ever-insistent that they needed to discuss it, Hermione would oftentimes bring herself to the verge of tears in her frustration to force him to understand he would survive the trial.

"It's just another test," she tried to explain. "Think of it that way."

Severus cast her a withering look and kindly refrained from rolling his eyes. "Hardly," he muttered. "That is no doubt the understatement of the century, Hermione. You don't have to feel obligated to make me feel better."

"What!" she exclaimed, aghast. She had been sitting down on the couch, but now, she was pacing. "If loving you isn't reason enough to help you, then I don't know what is."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he replied in defeat, shrugging his shoulders, "but what do you expect me to say? We have been over this again and again. Perhaps it would be best to just forget about it."

"I can't!" Hermione practically pleaded. "I- I don't know. I just want to help." She knew she sounded pathetic, but she didn't care. How clearly did she have to state her reasons for him to believe her?

Hermione stopped pacing and dropped her arms to her sides, simply left to gaze at the stubborn wizard in front of her. _At least he didn't get angry,_ she thought wryly.

"You know, a few weeks ago, you would have probably stomped out of the room by now," she remarked.

"What can I say? You have had quite an effect on me," Severus murmured, standing and coming behind her. The next thing she knew, his arms were snaking around her torso, drawing her close to him, and his breath was hot on her ear as he added, "You have an effect on me in more than one way, dearest."

The tiny hairs on Hermione's neck stood up. Not only was his velvet voice purring into her ear, sending delightful tingles down her spine, but she felt something else that was also very evident. At the small of her back, she felt a bump of hardness, gently but forcefully nudging into her skin. A hotness sparked alive inside her and moved down to her core, pooling there, longing to be satisfied.

_Oh, dear God,_ Hermione thought, coherency dissipating.

She exhaled heavily and leaned into him, bringing her hands to cover his. Severus breathed in her scent and nuzzled deeper into her hair. Hermione felt like she was melting in his embrace, like her legs were about to give out. Hot and dizzy and elated... it was the best feeling in the world.

Severus chuckled softly. "Perhaps you now understand what I mean when I say you have quite an effect on me, Hermione, love."

"Indeed, you evil, evil man," Hermione returned, her voice heavy with desire.

Severus's sensitive nose could smell her excitement, and it was making it all the harder to refrain from bedding her right then and there. Groaning in frustration, he began to undo his grip around her and step away. Shocked and hurt by his sudden withdrawal, Hermione released a pitiful whimper. Turning around, she fixed him with a pained gaze.

"I- I don't understand," she whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"

Raising his hand to his face and shaking his head, Severus closed his eyes in an equally pained expression. "No, no, to the contrary, Hermione - you were doing everything _right_." He made to walk away from her, but she stopped him, placing a hand on his forearm.

"Then what's the problem?" she bluntly inquired, her voice breaking.

Severus dropped his hand from his face and tried to look at her. "The problem," he grated out, "is that you are a young, delicate flower, who shouldn't be defiled by a dirty old bastard like me. The trial is less than a week away, you silly girl. If I am indeed condemned, there will be no future for us, and even if I am not, by some bloody luck, what is to say you would want to stay with me?"

"Because I love you!" Hermione yelled, tears now flowing freely. "Don't you believe me? Haven't I shown you? What more do I have to do? If testifying on your behalf on the trial day is what it takes, then fine, I'll give it my all. I've already told you I intend to defend you. You didn't believe me, maybe, but believe me now, Severus. Please!"

Severus glared at her for a second, then turned away, looking out the window, lost in his thoughts. Hermione would have come to him under other circumstances, hoping to comfort him, but he was the cause of her pain at present. She sat down on the couch, shivering, even though it wasn't cold.

The only sound for a long time were Hermione's sniffles. Finally, Severus withdrew from the window and pivoted toward her direction. Shaking his head, he slowly walked to the couch and stopped short of it. Gazing down at Hermione, he simply asked, "May I sit down?"

"It's your house," she remarked stiffly. "Do as you please." She paused, then added bitterly, "You never seem to have a problem saying whatever you please, anyway."

"Hermione-"

"Just stop it, you idiotic man. Don't apologize for the way you are. I get it. You're stubborn to a fault, and you aren't about to change for me."

Severus gingerly sat down. "I do owe you an apology, Hermione. I am obstinate, I know, but you have already had more of an effect on me than I could have ever imagined possible." He looked at his hands as they rested on his lap, and he felt ashamed. When would his temper ever stop losing control of itself? Reaching tentatively for her hand, Severus was relieved when she allowed him to take it. Looking at her searchingly, he continued, "I just don't want to ruin a good thing by rushing into something you might later regret. I honestly don't think I could regret any time I spend with you - yes, even _that_ - but you still definitely have your whole life ahead of you. I may or may not-"

Hermione made to say something, but Severus hushed her, placing a finger on her lips. "No, my dear, please allow me to finish. Let's be honest and real about this whole thing. I owe you that much, at least. If I do wind up going to Azkaban... or worse..." A shadow passed over his eyes. "...I want you to be free from anything that is presently binding us, understand? Taking our relationship to the next level would only prove folly right now, but don't think for a moment that I don't want it, because I do. I truly do. To share something so special with someone I love, Hermione, is the most beautiful and precious thing. I don't want to lose that - or you - over misjudging the right moment."

Moved by his poetry of words, Hermione could no longer stay angry at him. Her tears had stopped falling before, but they were coursing down her face again, but not because she was upset - no, she was overjoyed to hear his declaration of love, even the parts that were less than pleasant.

She moved toward him on the couch, and once again they were embracing. After the embrace came a long, passionate kiss, which, for now, would have to suffice.

But Hermione didn't mind.

And Severus figured he was forgiven.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Three days.

That was all the time they had left before the trial.

_Three days._

Hermione was restless. She was supposed to be working, but instead, she found herself standing behind the counter, tapping her foot impatiently, thrumming her fingers incessantly on the countertop, and her eyes glanced at the clock every minute. Just another half an hour and she would be free... free to get the hell out of here and to some place - _someone_ - more important.

"Er, excuse me, miss?" came a hesitant voice, although with an undertone of annoyance.

Hermione nearly jumped, but luckily refrained, and turned her attention to the customer who was standing on the other side of the counter. Barely able to see the lady's head due to a towering pile of books resting between them, Hermione had to glance around the literary small-wonder to see her.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, beginning to grab the books, one by one, and ring them up.

_And here I thought I read a lot of books,_ she thought wryly. She shook her head a little, trying to clear her mind of Severus and the fact that she had been doing poorly at her job all day. This elderly witch was the third customer she had accidently ignored that afternoon, and Hermione's boss had already reprimanded her once. She didn't need any more reminders that her mind was not currently at Flourish and Blotts.

The lady took notice of Hermione's preoccupied attitude and frowned. "Is something the matter?" she practically demanded.

"What? Erm... no, sorry," Hermione replied, clearly distracted. She rang the last book up and placed it into a bag. She murmured the total to the lady, who paid immediately. She was clearly not amused by Hermione's behavior.

The lady took her bag and glanced around, not budging.

"Can I help you with something, ma'am?" asked Hermione, trying to sound polite.

The older witch could tell Hermione's politeness was forced and gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Indeed, miss. You could tell me if you have a comments box around here."

"No, I'm afraid we don't," Hermione replied, wishing the lady would just _leave_.

The customer looked as if she was considering something, but then she simply turned on her heel and walked out the door without so much as a backward glance in Hermione's direction. Heaving a sigh of relief, Hermione turned her attention to the next customer and focused on her work.

Thankfully, the remainder of her time at the bookshop didn't last long that day. The moment the clock struck six, she was out of there. She returned to her flat for a few moments, freshening up and gathering some things she wanted to bring with her to Spinner's End that evening.

Before she could leave, however, a tap came from the window. There perched an owl. Hermione groaned in frustration and went to the window, letting the bird inside. Since she didn't recognize the owl, she knew it wasn't carrying a letter from Harry or Ron, and so, removing the rolled parchment from the owl's talons, she absently gave the owl a piece of bread while she perused the letter.

It was an offical letter from the Ministry, saying that Hogwarts would be reopening in the fall, and students would go into the year they would have been scheduled to go into this school year to begin with, meaning that if you had finished your fifth year a year ago, you would be entering your seventh year this year, despite having missed your sixth year. The subject material missed would be covered as much as possible in the upcoming year. The only exception was those who were in Hermione's class. She should have graduated this past year, but those who had finished their sixth year a year ago now had a choice: They could either finish their seventh year at Hogwarts, only be a year behind, or they could take on the challenge of going through an accelerated program (not taught at Hogwarts), which was being offered specially for Hermione's class.

Without a doubt, Hermione opted for the accelerated program. She had plans for the future, and she didn't want them delayed. As much as she loved Hogwarts, she felt that going back now would never be the same as it had been when Albus Dumbledore had been the headmaster. Frowning, Hermione couldn't help but to think that poor Dumbledore would have still been alive had Severus not killed him, but she didn't blame Severus was doing what was necessary. That in mind, she wondered how many people would truly be forgiving toward the ex-Death Eater she had come to love.

Throwing the letter down in anguish, Hermione startled the owl, and it flew away. She knew the trial was only three days away, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried to think about other things, everything kept coming back to the trial. Her life was no longer hers alone to live. She had a connection to Severus now that couldn't be severed... even under the worst circumstances.

Pushing the idea of the coming school year out of her mind, Hermione left the flat and Apparated to just outside Severus's house. Gazing sadly at his home, she wondered once again what he would do with his life if he was free to live it. He had already protested against returning to Hogwarts - not that she blamed him. She couldn't very well imagine students sitting in a classroom with a man who had killed the former headmaster teaching them.

Once she was at the door of her destination, Hermione knocked. The knob turned, and Severus stood there, pleased to see her. She tried to smile at him, but all her thoughts from the past couple of hours invaded her mind, refusing to give her peace. Severus closed the door once she had entered and scrutinized her, clearly knowing something was wrong.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind, or do I have to pry?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. He folded his arms and gave her an expectant look.

_How am I supposed to tell him without him getting totally pissed off that I've been thinking about him murduring Dumbledore?_

"It's - ah - nothing important," Hermione said. "Come on, let's have dinner. I've brought all kinds of good stuff-"

She made to walk toward the kitchen, but felt Severus's grip on her upper arm, firm and unrelenting.

"Dinner can wait," he stated. "Hermione, you're a terrible liar, so don't even try to play coy with me again. If something is the matter, I demand to know about it."

"Demand?" she asked incredulously, pulling her arm out of his grip. "I know you're only asking because you care, but really, Severus... please..."

He scowled and turned swiftly away. Before Hermione could formulate a response to his actions, he was gone.

With a groan of frustration, Hermione followed the path she knew he had taken - up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom. For several long moments, she stood outside his door, wondering if he was going to give in and open the door and apologize, but Severus Snape rarely apologized. She could hear some rustling in the room and heard him shift. He must have been sitting on the bed, Hermione figured.

"Severus, come out," she finally said. "You're being ridiculous, and you bloody well know it."

Hermione waited, her patience growing ever-thinner and sighed loudly. When no response came, Hermione persisted. "What are you trying to prove, Severus? You can't just stay in there all night!"

"Sure I can," he argued stiffly.

Reaching for the handle, Hermione was surprised to find the door unlocked. No resistance was made on Severus's part as she continued to open the door fully. Hermione found herself having her first look at his bedroom.

Even with all the times she had been over his house, Hermione had never gone inside his room. She knew he was a terribly private person, and she wasn't about to intrude where she wasn't wanted. The room was simple and uncared for, just like the rest of the house. A four-poster bed that resembled the ones at Hogwarts rested in the middle of the room, but it was covered in dull grey blankets. Books lined the one whole wall, and on either side of the bed were two small, dirty windows, the heavy, thick drapes drawn nearly shut across them. There was an ancient dresser on the wall opposite the books, and a small nightstand was on the right side of the bed. The furnishings were all of a dark wood and held an air of neglect.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the dark man was barely visible in the dark room. Hermione took a tentative step into the room, not sure how Severus would react. He had not invited her in, after all, and his expression was unreadable, mostly because of the sheer lack of light.

Bringing out her wand, Hermione remedied that small problem, lighting the sconces which decorated the walls. The home was Muggle and had the capability of electricity, but Severus didn't use it, nor did he have the service in use, so candles were the only source of light.

Hermione warily watched the shadows dancing off his closed face. He was leaning forward, purposefully obscuring his features with curtains of black hair. Moved by the sight of seeing him there, appearing lonely and helpless, Hermione sat next to him on the bed.

Severus didn't look at her, nor did he acknowledge her presence. Hermione, however, wasn't put off that easily. She placed a hand on his cheek and gently forced him to look into her eyes. Startled by the depth of his eyes, Hermione found she could read into his soul. She tucked his hair behind his ears and rested a hand on each of his cheeks, gazing at him fondly.

Seeing his face so clearly, she had a sudden thought to try something. She conjured up something small that Severus couldn't see. He didn't protest to her ministrations, but he didn't seem to respond to them, either. Hermione reached behind his head and pulled his hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Although his hair had always been long, it had grown even longer over the course of the past year since leaving Hogwarts. Severus's hair now hung about four or five inches past his shoulders, so the ponytail was quite elegant. Where there would have been a short tail before when his hair only reached his shoulders, there was now a long queue.

"There," Hermione said, admiring her work. "You look nice. You really shouldn't hide behind your hair, Severus."

He gave her a questioning look. "What are you playing at, Hermione? If I didn't know any better, I would say you were trying to distract me." There was a hint of teasing in his voice, for which Hermione was grateful. Perhaps he wasn't in a completely horrible mood after all.

"I think it's a good look on you, Severus... really. You look sexy." Hermione blushed, but it wasn't long before Severus was enveloping her in his arms. She allowed him to hold her to his chest for a while, relishing in the familiar, comfortable feel of his presence. All thoughts from earlier vanished... until Severus asked, "Now, is there something you want to tell me?"

Hermione groaned. "Can't we just forget about it and stay like this?"

"As much as I would love to keep you locked forever in my arms, my dear, they are growing stiff, and I am hungry. You mentioned dinner when you first came. Perhaps you would be up for discussing whatever is on your mind over dinner?"

"Well... all right," Hermione reluctantly gave in. She found it nearly impossible to say no to the man.

They separated from each other for the time being and headed down to the kitchen, where Hermione set to work preparing supper. Once all the food was ready, she joined Severus at the kitchen table. Gazing across the small distance at him, she was surprised to find him looking at her strangely.

"What?" she asked.

Severus's eyes moved over the table, taking in all the wholesome food, and he chuckled. "I daresay you're making sure I don't starve."

Hermione blushed. "Well, of course not. If I weren't here to make sure you eat, you probably wouldn't."

He shrugged. "You're probably right." Then, he sobered.

The meal began in silence, and Hermione was waiting for the right moment to bring up what was on her mind. She knew Severus was not the type to pry further. Even though he wanted to know, he would ultimately decide to be difficult and would internalize whatever questions he had... until he lost his temper.

"So," Hermione broke in awkwardly, "you wanted to know what's on my mind."

Severus set down his glass and wiped his mouth with the napkin, giving her an expectant look. "I would say that much is obtusely obvious, Hermione," he said dryly.

"Well... you know the trial is only three days away. It's just- I have a lot on my mind. I know we've been going over your defense a lot lately, and I've been talking with Harry and others about their defenses as well. I know everything will turn out okay; it just has to. I mean, if it didn't-"

Holding his hand up, Severus broke in, "Hermione, you're babbling. Please do me the small favor of actually getting to the point."

Flustered, she took a deep breath and sighed. "Okay," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I got a letter from the Ministry today about Hogwarts. I'm not going back, seeing as an accelerated program is being offered, but I was just thinking how... strange... it would be to return to Hogwarts now, now that- I mean..." She knew what she needed to say, but she couldn't say it. Not in front of him.

"You mean that Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without Dumbledore there," Severus finished for her. He sighed, his voice quiet and subdued. He found it difficult to look her in the eyes.

"Well, yes..." Hermione admitted slowly.

"It's all right, Hermione," he murmured, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are not the only one who realizes that fact."

Hermione watched him as he resettled himself uncomfortably in the chair. Dumbledore's murder was the heart of the reason for the trial, and while Hermione knew that, she never fully brought it to the surface. She knew no good would come out of it, and seeing the state Severus was in at the moment, she felt guilty for having ever said anything.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said sincerely, reaching across the table for his hands. "You know I hold nothing against you, right?"

He stared at her for a minute, as if he were considering something sacred. "I know you don't," he said carefully, "but my reputation is against me in this trial. The fact I didn't want to kill him doesn't matter; the fact is I did it. Hermione, how would you feel if your best friend asked you to kill him? Could you do it?"

His words sank in, and for the first time, Hermione realized the full impact Dumbledore's death must have had on the man across the table from her. She couldn't imagine killing Harry or Ron or Ginny... or Severus. She remembered Harry telling her almost a year ago how angry Severus had been when called a coward, and now she understood why.

"Severus," she said in earnest. "You did something few could have carried out. I know you would have done anything Dumbledore asked of you, and that speaks very highly of your loyalty to him. He asked you to do the unthinkable, and your loyalty was such that you would do even that - kill him because he demanded it of you. I don't think I fully understood that depth of loyalty until now. You are anything but a coward; you know that, right? You always had to play the role no one wanted to play - the anti-hero who's really the hero."

Severus was at a loss for words. He hung on to every word Hermione uttered, each one a divine piece of truth. They were like life-sustaining water to him. She had just spoken what he had always hoped was true about himself, but he didn't think anyone could ever believe the truth about him... until now.

"I think we understand each other," he murmured. "I didn't have to explain anything, because you already had me figured out."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

July 31, 1998.

That was the date.

From the moment he awoke, Severus knew that this was going to be a long day, regardless of the outcome. He didn't really remember much of the early morning, for he had moved through the foggy motions of showering, dressing, and half-eating breakfast, consuming more coffee than was recommended. Now, he found himself in a holding chamber at the Ministry of Magic. The Aurors had come to collect him that morning, and now he was wet from the merciless rain, staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything but the grey wall.

He recalled the night before like it was a half-remembered memory from a distant childhood dream. He had spent the evening (and well into the night) with Hermione. She had wanted to be there come morning, but he had insisted she go home and get some sleep. He hadn't slept much and wondered if she had. He wondered if she had eaten. He wondered what she was wearing, what fragrance she smelled of, how she had done her hair.

Severus half-smiled to himself, finding that, even though he might very well be condemned within a few short hours, she was all that was on his mind. Every thought he had was a half-attempt at gaining some semblance of importance today but her.

_Hermione._

He closed his eyes and allowed himself the small comfort of reflecting on the previous night's conversation that had passed between them...

_"Severus," Hermione persisted for the third time, "why don't you let me stay the night? I don't mind sleeping on the couch if that means I can be here to see you off in the morning... or maybe even accompany you." _

_Severus was sitting on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. He released a withering sigh. "Hermione, we've been through this already. As much as I would _love _for you to stay, you need your sleep, and besides, come morning, I'm likely to be a wreck. I don't want you seeing me like that. When the Aurors come to collect me, they will not want anyone else with me." _

_"First off, Severus, I've seen you a wreck many times before," she stated, standing in front of him, her hands planted firmly on her hips, "and secondly, I don't care if the Aurors don't want me there. You don't know that for sure, do you?" _

_"It doesn't matter," he argued, his voice becoming harsher with every syllable. He found himself stopping from saying anything further, for he noticed that she looked to be on the verge of tears. She was visibly shaking and appeared small and vulnerable. _

_Severus stood and went to her, enfolding her in his arms. Stroking her curls softly, he murmured, "It's not easy for me to tell you to go, love, but I hate to see you lose sleep over what is my problem. If you are truly going to prove something in that courtroom tomorrow, you need to be strong and awake." _

_Hermione sighed into the fabric of his clothing. It was rough and scratchy, and Hermione idly wondered why he chose to wear such thick robes, even in the summer. The rumble of his baritone voice as she leaned against his chest was comforting, however, and no matter what he was wearing, just being in his arms was enough to ease her worries. She still didn't like the thought of leaving, but she knew he was right. _

_She nodded, reluctantly, and they separated a little. With one last, lingering kiss, they parted._

Coming out of his reverie of the previous night's parting with Hermione, Severus resumed staring at the wall ahead of him. He could have had any number of thoughts plaguing his mind that morning, but he found his mind oddly (and thankfully) empty, expect for thoughts of Hermione.

The hearing was scheduled to begin at noon. It would be held in courtroom ten, on the tenth floor of the Ministry of Magic. Severus had been in that very courtroom several years before, when he had been accused of being a Death Eater. Dumbledore, however, had represented him and defended him, thus saving his life from Azkaban and giving him sixteen years to teach at Hogwarts.

The remaining hours of the morning passed, and the door to his holding chamber was opened. Two Aurors stepped inside, their faces utterly impassive, and they beckoned for him to stand. They didn't say a word, as it wasn't necessary. Everyone knew why Severus Snape was here.

Severus stood, and for the first time that morning, he felt afraid. Had he not come to fall in love with Hermione these past few weeks, he would have had nothing and no one for which to live. He would have accepted his punishment, knowing it was just and that he deserved it. But now, his whole world had been turned upside-down and inside-out.

The two Aurors stood on either side of him, their wands drawn, having apparently cast some sort of spell on Severus to encage him. If he tried to make a swift movement to attack either man, he would have been shocked by an electrical force-field that was surrounding him.

He was brought into the courtroom and seated. The seat was in the very center of the room, the spot for those who were accused like him. The magical chains were applied to his wrists and ankles. He glanced around at the familiar room, remembering the dark stone walls, dimly lit by torches, all too well.

About fifty wizards and witches were seated in chairs surrounding him, located in the balcony. Every one of them was an Interrogator, donning a plum-colored robe with an elaborate silver "W" on the left side. The Chief Warlock was the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. He was busy talking to a witch on his left side, who thankfully wasn't Dolores Umbridge. Scrimgeour looked the king lion he was, and Severus idly wondered if the man had been in Gryffindor.

His thoughts were ended, however, when Scrimgeour turned his face to look straight ahead, right at him. The trial was about to begin.

"We are here today on this thirty-first of July, nineteen hundred ninety-eight, to bring forth the charge of the murder of Albus Dumbledore, committed just over thirteen months ago, on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by Severus Snape, known Death Eater and follower of the late Dark wizard, Voldemort."

Several people still shuddered at the mention of Voldemort's name. The intake of breath was heard all throughout the room, and the air was still and stiff for a moment. Severus was numb to the mention of the name that had, at one time, given him chills and nightmares. He was only partly listening to Scrimgeour's rigid opening. He glanced to the right and saw Hermione there and felt his chest tighten.

Scrimgeour then went on, rattling off the names of those who were in the Wizengamot. Severus heard the scratching of a quill on a piece of parchment and noticed that the Court Scribe was already starting to take notes of the proceedings.

"Do you have anyone to represent you, Mr. Snape?" Scrimgeour asked.

"No," Severus replied.

From the sidelines, Hermione wanted to jump up and say she would do it. She would, of course, be a witness in his defense, but no one had discussed anyone representing him. Dumbledore had done it for Severus years ago when he was brought to trial for being a Death Eater, but with Dumbledore gone, who could have truly been a better representative? Dumbledore had seen more than anyone, had known more than anyone, and well, Severus had murdered him.

"Very well," Scrimgeour proceeded, not seeming to care one way or the other. He almost sounded bored, as if doing his job were a chore. After clearing his throat, he inquired, "I will start, then, by asking you plainly, Mr. Snape, did you murder Albus Dumbledore?"

There was no denying it, and even if he could have lied, Severus wouldn't have done so.

"Yes," he stated baldly.

Murmurs went up throughout the courtroom. Someone said loudly enough to be heard, "Well, then what's the point of a trial, anyway? The man admitted it himself! He's guilty!"

Hermione glared in the direction that voice came from and saw a face she had hoped she would never see again. Standing in the back of the crowd was Rita Skeeter.

_I should have never freed you from that jar, you bloody beetle bitch,_ Hermione thought savagely, glowering at the reporter, invisible daggers shooting from her eyes.

"Silence!" Scrimgeour suddenly bellowed, standing up and clutching onto the podium in front of him with a white-knuckled grip. "You are here to report, Miss Skeeter, not to commentate."

Rita Skeeter's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, but she said nothing, only nodded. Hermione smirked. At least the current Minister of Magic knew how to put the annoying Skeeter woman in her place.

Resuming his position, Scrimgeour said, "Now, back to the trial. You openly admit that you murdered Albus Dumbledore, then. Is this correct, Snape?"

"Yes," Severus said hollowly.

Scrimgeour paused for several long moments, as if collecting his thoughts. What would he ask next?

"Bring the first witness forward," he stated instead.

The first designated witness stepped out into the center of the room, accompanied by an Auror. She had been hiding behind others, and Hermione had not seen her. She made a small gasp when she saw who the first witness was.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Scrimgeour said. "State your name."

Hermione thought it ridiculous that Narcissa had to state her name, seeing as the Minister had just done so. To hell with legal procedure!

"Narcissa Malfoy," Narcissa replied in kind, raising her eyebrows haughtily.

"What's she doing here?" a hot voice whispered into Hermione's ear. She turned and saw Ron there.

"Shh," Hermione hushed him. "Watch and you'll see."

"Now, you claim you asked Severus Snape to enter into an Unbreakable Vow to protect your son, is this true?" the minister inquired, his eyes scrutinizing Narcissa from behind his glasses.

"Yes," Narcissa said shakily. "The Dark Lord would have killed Draco otherwise. I had to do something-"

Scrimgeour held up his hand. "Enough," he interrupted, not caring to hear a mother's sob story. Narcissa choked back tears. Talking about this even now was difficult for her; that much Hermione could see. For the first time, Hermione felt sorry for the lady. Narcissa may have been vain and unkind, but she was a mother who loved her son. She wasn't all evil.

Narcissa was questioned further, including the details of what the vow had entailed, how Severus would have to carry out the task Voldemort had given Draco had Draco proven unable to do so, how he had to protect Draco, and so on.

Other Interrogators asked questions as well, and Hermione began to wonder how long the trial would go on. They were still on the first witness, after all. Finally, Narcissa was through being questioned and was asked to step down. The next witness was Draco.

Hermione frowned at the blonde-haired boy who had been Harry's nemesis ever since his first year at Hogwarts. The seemingly permanent sneer that had always been plastered on Draco's young visage was now gone. In its place was a sullen, washed-out look. Like his mother, he was pale and sickly-looking. For the second time, Hermione found herself feeling badly for someone she didn't think she would have.

"Tell me about the task you were asked to do," Scrimgeour stated, "and how your professor was involved."

"I was supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore," Draco said with hesitation. "If I didn't, I- I would have been killed by You-Know-Who himself. Professor Snape kept trying to get information out of me all year. He acted like he didn't know the plan, but I wasn't fooled. I thought he wanted the honor and glory for himself. I refused to tell him anything important, but he had known all along, it would seem. When I proved unable to carry out the task myself on the tower that night, Snape did it instead."

Draco was glaring at Severus. Apparently, a rift had been placed between them. During the past year, Narcissa and her son had been in hiding. Hermione was surprised they had even agreed to testify, although she wondered if they were testifying for or against Severus. Severus, however, blatantly refused to look at Draco. Whatever was going through Draco's head, Hermione could only imagine, but she reckoned he thought Severus a traitor.

More questions were asked. More answers were given. The trial dragged out as several others came forward for questioning, including several Order members. Hermione watched as people like Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, and the Weasleys actually defended Severus. They spoke mostly of his involvement in the Order and of the useful information he had passed on at meetings. McGonagall, in particular, spoke of the very fact that Dumbledore trusted Severus, even when others questioned the true intentions of the dark man.

"And if there was one thing you could be sure of," McGonagall boldly stated, "it was that Albus Dumbledore was no fool. He may have been tricked before, but I do not believe that was the case with Severus."

When the dame finished, Severus glanced at her with admiration and appreciation in his dark eyes. He knew it had taken a lot for her to say what she had. She had been very close with Dumbledore, and it had taken several long months for her to put the past behind her and see the truth where her ex-colleague was concerned.

"Next we have Rubeus Hagrid," Scrimgeour said, watching as the half-giant stood and lumbered over.

When Hagrid took his seat, the chair nearly gave out below him. His excessive girth was hanging over the edges in all directions. He was asked to state his name, and then the questioning began all over again.

"You say you overheard part of a conversation between Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape," Scrimgeour said. "Elaborate for us, please."

"Yeah, well... I was walkin' in the Forbidden For'st, and I overheard Pr'fessor Dumbledore and Pr'fessor Snape talkin'. They were arguin' 'bout somethin.' Snape said he didn't wan' ter do it anymore and that Dumbledore took too much fer granted. Dumbledore basic'ly told him - Snape - that he had ter do what he had ter do."

Hermione glanced at Harry, remembering Hagrid having told him about that very conversation. Everything made sense now, but who could have honestly known back then what those seemingly cryptic words exchanged between the two professors had meant?

"And do you truly believe Dumbledore already knew about the plan at that point?" persisted the Minister, looking skeptically from Hagrid to Severus.

"Er... yes, 'course," Hagrid said. He seemed to have taken too long to answer, for Scrimgeour and several other Interrogators looked unimpressed.

"Are you sure?" Scrimgeour pressed.

"Yes," Hagrid repeated, more forcefully and firmly this time. "Dumbledore was no fool. He knew the plan. He knew ev'rything."

"Very well. You may be seated," the Minister replied crisply.

Next, Ron was called. Ginny was next, although her session was very brief. They mostly spoke about the past year, how Severus had helped them find and destroy the Horcruxes, how he had never harmed them, how he had risked his life to do the work Dumbledore had entrusted to Harry.

Finally, Hermione was called. She stood, swallowing nervously, and each unsteady step she took seemed like it would be her last. As she walked to the center of the room, she wondered why she felt like she was the one on trial.

_Just breathe,_ she told herself. _You know what you have to say. You know you can do this. For him._ She found herself gazing at Severus, and he was gazing back, his face unreadable. An understanding was exchanged between them as she sat down, and she swallowed her fear, knowing she was stronger than it.

She stated her name, and the questions began.

"Like Ron and Ginny said," Hermione stated vehemently, "Severus helped us for several months. He could have easily hurt us at any point during the quest to find all the Horcruxes. He had Harry within his reach and could have taken him to Voldemort himself. Without his knowledge and skills and... and courage," she said in earnest, glancing at Severus, the man whom she loved, "we wouldn't have been able to find and destroy all of them."

"All that is very well and good," Scrimgeour said, almost lazily, "but what about the night he murdered Dumbledore? Where were you? Tell me your involvement."

"Luna Lovegood and I went to retrieve the professor. He told us to tend to Professor Flitwick. He said that he had fainted-"

"That was a lie, correct? Snape actually used a Stunner on Filius Flitwick."

"Yes, but- but he could have killed him!" Hermione exclaimed hotly. "He didn't. He could have killed us, for that matter, but again, he didn't!"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," the Minister said firmly. "I can clearly see the facts for myself."

"He could have killed Harry that night or taken him to Voldemort!" Hermione shot shrilly.

"That will be quite enough!" Scrimgeour yelled, standing and pounding his fist on the podium. He saw back down, and Hermione felt like a child who was being reprimanded for inappropriate behavior. "This is a courtroom, young lady. Facts are what we want, not your own personal opinions. Perhaps we should not even consider your testimony, seeing as you were and are too closely _involved_ with the accused."

The Minister was glaring at Hermione with stony eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lash out, to tell him he didn't know anything - that if someone didn't have all the facts about Severus Snape, it was him, not her. How dare he openly insult her in front of the whole courtroom!

She was then asked to step down. Hermione wanted to protest with everything she had. She wanted to cling to Severus and never let go. As she was removed by the Auror and escorted back to her seat, hot tears of anguish flowed down her cheeks. She kept her eyes on Severus the whole time, and his eyes were staring back at her, a pleading in them that only she could see. What she would have given to know what he was thinking in that moment.

Once she was sitting again, Hermione felt like she had severely disappointed Severus, that she had failed as a witness to defend him. How many times over the past few weeks had she repeatedly said she would stand up for him, fight for him? And when the day of reckoning actually came, she had failed miserably. She felt like a little girl who was ignored and told to go to her room. Everything she had believed about Severus didn't matter anymore, not if she couldn't even be Gryffindor enough to stand on her own two feet and defend what was right. She felt that, if he were condemned today, it would be her fault.

"Finally, we have one more witness," Scrimgeour was now stating, clearly having brushed Hermione off. "Harry Potter, will you please enter the witness box?"

Harry stood and did as he was told. Unlike everyone else, he was not asked to state his name. Instead, Scrimgeour said, "I believe birthday wishes are in order, Harry Potter. Happy birthday."

"Uh, thank you, sir," Harry said awkwardly, surprised and confused.

"Now, tell us why you think Severus Snape should be condemned," the Minister stated.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked, truly perplexed.

"Come now, my boy," Scrimgeour said, a smile tugging at his lips, "surely you have waited a long time for this day. Here is the man who has made your life miserable since the day you entered Hogwarts. He never backed down from the chance to deduct points, hurl insults at you, give you unfair marks. You never liked this man, isn't that true, Harry?"

"Well, yes..." Harry said slowly, "but what does his treatment of me in school have to do with anything?"

Scrimgeour snorted and raised his brow. "Honestly, my boy, you are Harry Potter - destroyer of Voldemort. Everyone should have been doing everything in their power to help prepare you for the day you would have to face the Darkest wizard of our time, but instead, Severus Snape was having too much fun at your expense. Killing Albus Dumbledore in front of your very eyes was certainly the last straw, right? I mean, come now, you witnessed it on the tower that night."

"Yes, sir, I saw everything," Harry shot out fiercely, "but I don't need reminding by the likes of you. Dumbledore begged to have his life ended that night, not saved. Do you know what Dumbledore asked _me_ to do just hours before he died? He asked me to feed him poison. Yes, that's right. He told me to obey him - no matter what, to keep feeding it to him. I could have just as easily been responsible for his death had Snape not finished him."

"Now, Harry," Scrimgeour said, his voice somewhat on edge, "don't be ridiculous. You would have never murdered-"

"You think you're giving me some sort of sick birthday present, do you?" Harry interrupted. "I don't like Snape, but that doesn't mean I want him dead... not anymore. You heard what everyone said. You heard that he helped me and my friends find the Horcruxes. You heard everything you needed to hear, but you now aren't getting from me what you want. I'm not saying the words you want me to say, but that's too bad, sir, because I'm not going to be responsible for condemning an innocent man to his death."

"Severus Snape is _not_ an innocent man!" bellowed Scrimgeour. "It is the responsibility of the Ministry to do away with wizards who are murderers and followers of Dark wizards. You are a fool if you cannot see the truth, Harry Potter. Enough! Step down from there!"

Harry glared at Scrimgeour and removed himself from the witness box. When he returned to his seat, Hermione was watching him, a mixture of admiration and fear on her face. She didn't keep her eyes on Harry long, though, for now her attention was fully back on Severus.

Severus was asked questions by several Interrogators, simply reaffirming what all the witnesses had already said. Hermione grew restless in her seat, feeling the sweat from her body heat making her stick uncomfortably to the chair. The air was stuffy and hot. The clock ticked insanely slowly.

"Have you anything further to say, Mr. Snape?" Scrimgeour inquired, his patience clearly waning.

"I considered Albus Dumbledore my friend," Severus said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "His having asked - no, demanded - that I kill him was the most hateful thing he could have ever asked of me, but I did it because I was loyal to him to the end, even if that meant his end. If you cannot understand that, then you are a fool, and it's clearly no wonder that Albus didn't have the same ideas of how to serve justice as such a corrupted bunch of Ministry sods as you lot."

Scrimgeour glowered menacingly at Severus for the insult, but refused to comment. He proceeded to say, "The questions are over. The court will now decide your fate, Severus Snape."

The Interrogators murmured amongst themselves for a while, and a charm had been placed between them and the rest of the people in the room. Hermione couldn't hear what they were saying, but with each passing moment, she grew more and more antsy to know what the verdict would be.

In his seat, Severus kept his mind as empty as possible, all thoughts directed toward Hermione. He was looking across the nervous room at the woman he loved, and she was staring back at him. It was as if the distance between them was closed and no one else was surrounding them. Whatever happened, they would have this moment.

Finally, the charm was dropped, and the dispelling murmurs of the Interrogators faded away into silence. Scrimgeour cleared his throat, sizing up the crowd with his eyes, then staring at Severus.

"And the verdict is-"


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

"And the verdict is guilty of having committed the act of killing Albus Dumbledore, but innocent of having done so in cold blood."

A hush went over the courtroom. Guilty _and_ innocent? But how could that be the ruling? Never in the history of the Wizengamot had the verdict been mixed like this.

Guilty and innocent.

Not simple black and white.

So very telling of the life of Severus Snape.

Before anyone could formulate a response, the shackles around Severus's wrists and ankles were loosened. He was still staring at Scrimgeour, at a loss for words, not even realizing what was going on around him.

When he felt something prodding him in the arm, he jumped, and turned to see an Auror standing there. The man held a wand in his grasp, a wand that was pointing directly at Severus, touching him, even. For a quick moment, he thought his punishment was about to be given.

Then, with a startling realization, he recognized the ebony wand.

It was his.

The Auror had a look of withering impatience on his face. Then, Scrimgeour proceeded to say, "You may take your wand, Mr. Snape."

Nodding mutely, Severus took his wand - a simple piece of wood - he hadn't seen in several weeks. A part of him was loath to touch the very thing that had ended Dumbledore's life, but Severus blanched inwardly, knowing it was ridiculous to think that wands killed and not wizards. _He_ had killed Dumbledore. The wand had just been the instrument to channel his magic.

An errant thought, something his father had said, passed through his mind - something about people killing people, not guns. It was the same logic.

Scrimgeour was frowning, evidently displeased with the verdict. Too many individuals on the Wizengamot had been for granting Severus freedom, however. To refute the words of the likes of Harry Potter was folly, if nothing else, and in reverence of Albus Dumbledore, who could argue with the late wizard's trust in the man who sat before them, charged with so much (and thanked for so little)?

"If there is any confusion in the ruling," the Minister of Magic continued, "let me clarify. Snape did, in fact, kill Albus Dumbledore. He admits so himself; however-" he paused, considering his words carefully, "it was what Dumbledore himself demanded, no matter how... flawed... I would say his judgment was. You ought to be grateful, Snape, to have had the support given in your defense today. Now, while you will not be condemned to rot in Azkaban, you will have your penance to pay.

"First of all, your wand will be strictly monitored by the Ministry. Should you use it wrongly, meaning any hex or curse, you will find yourself arrested and on trial once again. We will not take things so lightly next time."

_Lightly?_ Severus thought. _I hardly call what you did today taking anything lightly._ He scowled at the Minister.

Scrimgeour, however, was oblivious to Severus's displeasure. He continued rattling on, "Secondly, you will be employed by the Ministry, working on projects that we give you. You will be expected to report at 8:00 a.m. every morning, staying until 6:00 p.m. every evening. You will work six days a week, with only Sundays off - for the next two years.

"Thirdly, you are to remain in the confines of your own house, with the exceptions of the designated times - evenings, Monday to Saturday, from 6 to 9:00 p.m., you are permitted to be elsewhere, and on Sundays, you are permitted to leave all day, granted you return by 9:00 p.m. in the evening. Please note that you will be strictly monitored. Any straying from these rules, and you will find yourself back in this courtroom, and, like I said, the ruling next time will not be taken so lightly.

"Should you prove able to follow these regulations for the next two years, you will be granted your freedom to live out the rest of your life as you please. Documentation of these regulations will be available for you following the trial. That is all. Dismissed."

With that, Scrimgeour stood and stiffly exited the room. People started moving, standing, walking about, the chatter of a hundred voices filling the room. Several media people, including Rita Skeeter at the front of the lot, were immediately in Severus's face, practically demanding he answer their questions.

"Tell us, Mr. Snape, how does it feel to be free?"

"What do you think of the hearing? Did you expect this?"

"What did the Minister mean by Miss Hermione Granger being too close to you?"

Flushing an angry shade of red, Severus glared at the reporters, wishing he could use his wand to hex them into oblivion. However, the more rational part of his brain argued that using his wand five minutes after being granted this supposed freedom would not sit well with the Ministry.

In the crowd, Hermione struggled to get close to him. She had already said her goodbyes to Harry and everyone else. While she was relieved he had not been found totally guilty and hauled off to Azkaban, she was still enraged that the Ministry had found their own means of condemning him. He was still a prisoner, still having to serve someone else, and that was exactly what Severus had told her weeks ago he didn't want to be doing.

_Maybe they would have found him completely innocent had I done a better job,_ Hermione thought, feeling ashamed. She soon regretted her selfish thought, however, knowing it was foolish to put that much stock into her defense.

Amongst the milling crowd, Severus half-heartedly accepted words of congratulation from various members of the Order, but he wanted desperately to be out of there. He scanned the room for Hermione, finally spotting her head of frizzy brown hair in the crowd. She was shorter than most, and that had only elongated his search.

When his dark eyes rested on her, she connected with him, her eyes locking with his. They closed the distance between them, and Severus gruffly took her hand, removing himself and her from the room.

Once they were free of the room, Severus didn't say a word, only continued to roughly escort her through the halls, onto the lift, and finally out of the Ministry of Magic altogether. Grateful to be in fresh air again, Severus sighed.

Hermione watched him carefully, wondering when and if he was going to speak. She wanted to ask where he was taking her as he walked briskly down the street. He seemed focused on getting as far away from public eye as possible. Turn after turn, he drove through the streets with his long legs. Finally, they stopped.

Hermione collected herself and glanced around. They were in a dark alley.

"Severus, what-"

He said nothing, but instead, his lips were roughly, demandingly pressing against hers. He pushed her against the side of a building, and Hermione winced as the bricks rubbed against her bare arms and even through her clothing. She kissed him fervently back, avidly twisting her hands into his hair, not caring that she was uncomfortable.

Severus groaned with a mixture of pent up frustration and delight, bringing his one hand to the top of her robe and fiddling with the buttons. Undoing a couple, his hand was given free access to her flesh. He groped her breast, wishing the bra gone.

He continued his ministrations by pressing his body into hers, grinding his hips with passion and fervor into hers, softly moaning her name in short intervals.

Shocked by the intensity of his actions, Hermione realized her back was sore from the wall behind her. She whimpered a little, for he kept pressing himself wantonly into her, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.

"Severus," she breathed throatily, "please... what- ?"

He silenced her by kissing her once again, as if he didn't want her to speak, but she broke the kiss, trying to speak again. "What are you doing, love?"

"I must have you, Hermione," he breathed into her mouth. "I've waited long enough. I'm finally free... as free as I'll be for a long time, anyway. Please, don't deny me-"

"How could I deny you, you silly man?" she inquired. "But honestly, don't you think we ought to at least return to your place? I mean, the Ministry said-"

"Hang what the Ministry said," Severus interrupted, beginning to probe her mouth with his again, his tongue longing to lavish the inside, and later, other wet places.

Hermione reluctantly broke away, twisting out of his grasp, and trying to compose herself. "Please, Severus, listen to reason. You can't disobey them. You just got out of there. And don't you think we should talk?"

Severus frowned at her, looking somewhat hurt and affronted. "Very well, Miss Know-It-All," he stated stiffly, straightening himself, "since you seem to know what is best for me, why don't you just escort me home and make sure I stay in my room like a good lad? Are you going to make sure I eat all my meals and get plenty of sleep as well? You seem to have already gotten a good start."

Hermione's mouth was gaping open. Taking steadying breaths, she tried to calm down, tried to hold back the inevitable tears, but the hot saltiness began to pour down her cheeks regardless. She couldn't look at him. A part of her mind tried to reason that he was merely dealing with everything that had just transpired in that courtroom, that he was just putting up his defensive mechanisms at the moment, that he didn't really mean to be so awful, but bollocks to all that rot.

She dashed the tears angrily away and glared at him. "How _dare_ you, Severus Snape," she spat, pointing a finger at his chest. "I have done everything in my power to help you because I wanted to, not because I was trying to bloody mother you. Hell, I even _tried_ to defend you in there, but a lot of good that did." Feeling ashamed and helpless, Hermione began crying all over again and dropped to her knees, not caring that the ground was filthy and hard.

Severus dumbly stood there for a few moments, warily watching the young witch in front of him. Here had been this lovely flower who had chosen to love him to the point of doing everything for him because she believed him a good man, and now she was withering, dropping petal by petal to the forsaken ground. He lowered himself to her level and wrapped his arms around her. With a pop, they were gone.

They appeared in front of Spinner's End, much to Hermione's relief, although she was still startled by his sudden actions.

"You could have given me a warning," she accused.

Severus blatantly ignored her and went to the door, unlocking it. He held it open for her.

Hermione, for her part, stared at him. "Oh, so now you're trying to play the gentleman and invite me in?"

"Hermione, for the love of all that's holy, would you please just enter?" Severus asked, stifling a groan.

"Fine," she snapped, jerkily walking past him and into the house. She stood there, arms folded across her chest and gazed at him imploringly.

Severus closed the door and promptly locked it and warded it. Hermione wondered if he was happy to have his wand back to be able to perform even such a simple spell as a common ward, but she didn't say so. An awkward silence fell between them, and Severus avoided her eyes, afraid of what he would find there. Instead, he went into the kitchen and began fumbling around. The opening and closing of cupboards and drawers, followed by the clanging of pots and dishware, and Hermione eventually gave in to her curiosity and entered the kitchen, silently watching him as he set to making a pot of tea. Nothing was exchanged between them, and when Severus placed two cups of tea on the small wooden table, he finally looked at Hermione.

"Are you going to just stand there, or will you join me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, very well," she gave in, not too thrilled at the prospect. Hermione joined him at the table and sipped the tea, which was too strong for her tastes, but she didn't complain. She listened to his sips and watched his lips as the liquid wetted them. When he licked the tea from them, Hermione blushed.

"Enjoying the view?" he enquired quietly.

"Of course I am," she admitted softly. "But don't think you can get my mind off what's bothering me by trying to act innocently sexy. There's nothing innocent about you, Severus."

The moment the words escaped her mouth, she wanted to grab them and shove them back inside. "That is- I didn't mean-" she sputtered.

"Indeed," Severus sneered, setting the cup down. "I know my nature. You are right, as usual, Hermione. I am not innocent. Perhaps I shouldn't even be here. I don't deserve even the small amount of freedom I've been given," he murmured darkly.

"Don't say that," Hermione interjected hotly. "They should have granted you full pardon, let you live your life as you see fit. You told me you didn't want to have to serve any more masters, but you now have to spend two more years of your life serving the bloody Ministry. Maybe if I hadn't messed up so badly in there-"

He snorted. "Honestly, Hermione, do you think anything you could have said would have made any difference in their eyes? You tried and did the best you could. I'm not saying you shouldn't have tried," he said quickly, knowing she could take what he said the wrong way, "but you know what the Ministry is like. I owe you and everyone who testified on my behalf so much, you have no idea - do you?"

Hermione blinked back tears. "I know it's stupid of me to think that... that I alone could have saved you from being found guilty, but I wanted so badly for you to be free, Severus. You deserve it after all you've been through."

Moved by her words, he clasped her tiny hands in his. "You have no idea, do you, love?" he asked gently. "Have you no idea how much you have already saved me, Hermione? It wouldn't have mattered what they said in that courtroom, for I was already free. I had you."

She couldn't stop the tears now. No longer did tears of sadness fall down her face, though. They were now tears of happiness. Her heart was bursting inside her chest, and she wanted nothing more than to give it freely to him.

Severus stood and came around the table to where she sat. From behind, he enclosed her in his arms and leaned down, whispering in her ear, "All I saw when I entered that courtroom was your beautiful face."

Hermione turned her face to his and closed the small space between them, kissing him deeply. The next thing she knew, he was scooping her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs.

"I will now show you just how free you have made me, Hermione, love," Severus said, his voice echoing the compassion in his heart.

Hermione could only beam at him and snuggle closer into the crook of his neck. He took her inside his room and closed the door to the rest of the wayward, judgmental world.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note: I made a video for this story, which can be found here: http/: www. youtube . com / watch?v0TDPdtxaCeg

Artwork by me is here: http/: www . deviantart . com / deviation / 37479583 /

Artwork by Perselus is here: http/: www . deviantart . com / deviation / 37123851 /

(Remove spaces, obviously.)

Chapter Eighteen

They walked, hand in hand, into the bedroom. After candles were lit and the drapes were drawn shut, Severus gently led Hermione to the bed. Placing his strong hands behind her head, he eased her to a pillow and lay her down so that her body was stretched out across the mattress.

Severus gently brought his body down onto hers and began kissing her neck, moving slowly up, then down, and up again. He worked his way along her delicate jawline, his hands entwined in her thick hair, massaging her scalp. As he brought his mouth down over hers, he moved his hands to her chest and began to work his magic on her soft breasts, kneading them in a sensual, circular motion. Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his robes.

Next, Hermione felt the buttons on her robe coming undone, one by one, until all of her tummy was exposed. Severus planted kisses all over her flat abdomen, gradually moving toward her private area. She moaned with pleasure, forgetting that the world beyond his bedroom even existed. Hermione's fingers were now running through his silky hair as she arched into his welcoming touch.

Before she knew what was happening, her robe and bra had been completely removed, and her lover was now bare, save his underwear. He lay on top of her once again, skin on skin, the heat emanating from their elated bodies. Then, he pleasured her by suckling one tender nipple as he played with the other between his forefinger and thumb, gently flicking the taunt tip of her breast. He caressed the whole breast and then switched to the mouth, giving her unending amounts of satisfaction with his fluid movements.

Teasingly, he lifted his mouth from her breast just enough to whisper, "You like that?"

She moaned an incoherent "yes."

For a moment, Severus just surveyed her, taking in her lovely form. She was thin, but not too thin, and her hips were a little wider than average, but she filled her curves well. Her breasts were neither too large nor too small, and he found that they were the perfect size for holding in his hand. Her tender lips were red and swollen with desire, and her face was flushed a delicious shade of rose. Her eyes were avid and sparkling with life and desire to please, and her hair was loose and wild, sprawled out in every direction on the pillow behind her.

As Severus drank her in with his eyes, Hermione did likewise. This was, after all, the first time they were seeing each other this way, utterly exposed and erotically vulnerable. The warm glow from the candlelight illuminated his pale skin, giving him a healthier look than usual, but Hermione also surmised that he was flushed with the same desire she was. While still quite thin, he no longer had the emaciated look he had possessed a month earlier. A smattering of fine black hairs covered his chest and lower abdomen, growing thicker as it reached his nether regions. She could barely see his face due to the long hair hanging down on either side, covering his expression. She longed to see his eyes.

And so, reaching toward his face, Hermione lovingly tucked his hair behind his ears, and Severus didn't react, other than to give her the penetrating gaze he had been giving her for quite some time now. His eyes, which was oftentimes so empty and devoid of emotion, were now burning with a passion she couldn't name.

"I want you; I need you now, Hermione," he managed to growl, pushing into her with his hips.

For a moment, Hermione felt an unwanted trepidation course through her. Here she was, with the man she loved, about to complete that love in a very basic yet complex way, but she felt suddenly anxious. She hesitated too long, causing Severus to ask, "Is something wrong, love?"

"It's just- well, I haven't exactly gone all the way before, if you know what I mean," Hermione said awkwardly, hoping she wasn't spoiling the mood.

To be honest with himself, Severus was split between feeling guilty that he would be breaking her virginity and feeling devilishly aroused that she was a virgin. A young virgin.

He knew better than to take her if she was uncertain, though.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I just... am inexperienced, but I do- I do want you." She made her voice sound more sure.

"I promise to be as gentle as possible," he explained. "We can take it slow if you like."

"Okay," she murmured, feeling more secure.

Severus began to stroke the sensitive area between her legs as she pushed harder and harder into him as an intense desire began building inside her. She was now clinging onto him, silently demanding to be pleased to the fullest of his abilities, and he definitely had abilities to please to the fullest, deepest, and most delightful extent. She felt his erection rubbing against her thigh, and she knew he wouldn't be able to resist much longer.

"And just what it is you want?" Severus asked, taunting her on purpose as he rubbed her privates.

"Oh, you know what I want," Hermione whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yessss," she purred, surrendering completely to his touch.

Severus stopped for only a brief moment as he removed his underwear, and then he began to pull Hermione's panties slowly down her legs. She yearned to tell him to hurry up, lest she come prematurely. She wanted the man in her for that part. He gave her a rather wicked grin and finally pulled the little piece of cloth over her feet and threw it on the floor, where the other stripped clothing resided.

He eased slowly into her, penetrating her until she was filled. He moved in, out, in, out as she bucked her hips. Bringing his mouth to hers once again, he kissed her passionately, their tongues intertwining and wrestling, and their hands explored each other's bodies as they gave into the full urge to make love in the most raw and unbound way. It was sheer and pure ecstasy, this giving and taking on both parts, and together, bound as one on the bed, it was hard to tell where one person ended and the other began. Their naked forms mixed and mingled, melting profusely into each other and losing themselves in the act of surrender at its fullest extent.

And then, they came together, pushing and feeling and just experiencing the high feeling of fulfillment on many levels. They reached their peak as one, and together, they felt their bodies heave into release and then completion. Severus stayed inside her as he grew soft, and then they lay there on the bed, their bodies curled in each other. As the last moments of wakefulness passed, the darkness grew heavy around them as the candles flickered out, and they drifted into a dreamless sleep, lost to love.

x x x x x

Or so the sleep had started off dreamless. In the middle of the night, Hermione was awakened by Severus as he tossed and turned in the bed beside her. Startled, she had forgotten for a moment where she was. Hermione wasn't used to occupying the same bed as another.

The moment she laid eyes upon Severus, however, she grew worried for him. Gazing at his face in the dark, she found she could barely make out his strained features. Whatever he was dreaming, it wasn't pleasant.

She wondered if she should wake him, but she didn't have to ponder this for long. With a sudden jerk, Severus sat up in the bed, gasping for air, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, and his hands grasping onto the sheet with a white-knuckled grip.

"Severus?" Hermione ventured timidly.

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and he moved a fraction away from her, clearly not expecting to hear the voice of someone else in the bed next to him.

He swallowed and croaked, "Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, it's just me, Severus," she replied gently, easing her way toward him. "What's wrong?"

Having calmed down, Severus shook his head. "It's nothing. Just a stupid dream. Forget it."

Hermione could tell by the clipped tone of his voice that he was closing up and withdrawing into himself, trying to hide the real problem. She didn't want to prod him if it was going to make him uncomfortable, but at the same time, she was concerned for him.

Not saying anything, Hermione went to him and slid her arms around his bare torso, drawing him to her. A cold sweat coated his skin, and as she held him, she realized he had not settled as much as she had originally thought.

"You're shaking," Hermione observed softly.

"I'm fine," Severus said, a little more tersely than he had intended. A part of him wanted to pull away and bury himself under the covers again, but a larger part of him surrendered to her loving touch.

"I don't mean to be nosy, but something is clearly bothering you, Severus," Hermione said, more conviction in her voice. Then more gently, "Please, tell me. Maybe it'll help."

"Doubtful," he said, a scowl on his face. "But... very well. You wouldn't know this, but every few nights... I have this dream. Well, it's not really a dream, more like a bad memory."

Hermione didn't say anything, knowing he needed a little time to say what he needed to.

"I was dreaming about that night," he said vaguely.

Hermione understood what he meant without even asking.

"I..." he started, faltering. "It's embarrassing, this - this having to thrash about my bed like a helpless, little child. It's humiliating that you had to see it, Hermione. I'm a grown man, for Merlin's sake-" He cut off abruptly, choking on his words, shaking his head in defeat.

"Shhh," Hermione murmured, still holding him to her. She rubbed his back, hoping to console him. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing."

Severus shook his head again, determined to prove her wrong. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I killed him, Hermione; I killed him... The thoughts won't leave me. I dream about killing him, saying those words, and just watching - as if I didn't care - just watching, Hermione, just watching... his lifeless body fall off that tower."

Hermione blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay that were quickly forming in her eyes. As he ground out every difficult word, each one cutting at him, his voice broke more and more. She wished he would have had someone months ago to have shared these thoughts with - someone who would have understood and not judged, someone who would have listened and loved and accepted him.

Severus was clinging onto her desperately, his head resting on her shoulder. For several moments, she simply held him, wondering if this was the first time he had ever made himself so vulnerable to another since his childhood. When her hands grew tired from rubbing circles on his back, she shifted a little and withdrew just enough to place her hands on either side of his face. Coaxing his head so he would look her in the eyes, Hermione brushed his hair back, hoping he would let her see his expression.

What she saw nearly broke her heart. Wet trails drifted down his cheeks, where tears had no doubt fallen, lost after they reached his jaw and fell. His eyes were still glassy, and Hermione watched as a lone tear escaped and fell. She kissed it away, then kissed every spot on his face where all the tears had been. She caressed him and held him and kissed him some more and just loved him.

Severus was silent and allowed her to do her ministrations. He kept his arms loosely around her, but in all this, he wondered how she could still choose to be with him. She was truly an angel.

When he had calmed, and Hermione had eased up in comforting him, she said, her voice tender, "Nothing you could ever do or say, Severus, would change how I feel about you. You should know that by now. I'm glad you felt it okay to cry in front of me. You know I would never hold it against you, right, love?"

"I had hoped so, Hermione," he whispered. "I don't doubt you. I doubt myself. I may have been granted a sort of freedom today, but I think I just realized that I still have a long way to go before I'm recovered, as it were."

"The road to recovery is a long and difficult one, Severus, but you're not alone. You never were, even before you had me."

"Perhaps, although I murdered Albus, and he was the only person who really thought I was worth anything."

"You didn't murder him, Severus," Hermione said firmly. "You did what you had to do - what he asked you to do, and you know that."

"Knowing doesn't mean I can accept it, Hermione."

Hermione frowned. She knew she couldn't say anything that would change how he felt about himself or his actions.

"Maybe one day you will accept it, Severus."

He didn't say anything.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

When Hermione woke up in the morning, she found the bed next to her empty. A smile briefly crossed her face, remembering the previous night, but it was short-lived. She then recalled the unsettling dream Severus had had, causing him to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, shivering, despite the warm summer air.

Thinking he was already downstairs, she imagined having breakfast with him and then a whole day to spend together - perhaps talking about the nightmare if he felt like it.

She pushed back the covers and wrapped herself in a robe, leaving his bedroom and padding down the stairs to the first floor. She looked in the kitchen first, surprised he wasn't there. She checked the living room. Empty.

_Where has he gone?_

The house wasn't very big, but it did have a basement she hadn't yet seen. Hermione went toward the door, not sure if she should go down there. Tentatively reaching for the handle, she was about to turn it when she remembered that it was a Saturday, and Severus had to work on Saturdays. Today was his first day of working for the Ministry.

She turned away from the basement door and glanced at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. It was past ten o'clock. She had slept in at least three hours since he had gotten up. Hermione sighed and wondered why he hadn't left a note.

_Maybe he assumed I would remember,_ she idly thought.

Her stomach rumbled, signaling hunger, so she returned to the kitchen, where she fixed herself a quick breakfast. After eating, she wondered if she should stay and wait for him to return, hoping he would want to talk, figuring he might need some support after his first day laboring for the Ministry. Grateful she didn't have to work, she had several hours to do whatever she wanted before Severus would return home.

She spent some time tidying up the kitchen, her mind left adrift. When she was finished, she walked to the living room and gazed upon the shelves of books. If she desired, she could spend her whole afternoon reading, and normally, this would have satisfied Hermione, but her curiosity was back and banging unrelentingly at her mind's door. She looked at the door to the basement again.

She knew it was crazy to think so, but basements had always given her the creeps. People oftentimes kept things in basements that they didn't want others seeing - whether merely useless junk or things that were old and forgotten. The dark dampness of basements and the musty smell only added to the feeling, as if someone were right behind her, touching her neck with the tip of their elongated, cold fingers.

Hermione was drawn to the door, unable to help herself. She reached for the knob and gave it a turn. The door creaked open, and the smell of stale air met her nostrils. The house was old, and old houses had the creepiest basements of all.

She shook her head, snorting briefly to herself. _It's not like he's keeping dead bodies down there, Hermione,_ she mentally chided herself. _It's a bloody basement, for crying out loud, not a crypt._

With Severus's dark past, however, a small part of Hermione felt unsure. She knew it was ridiculous, but oftentimes feelings were irrational, especially for a normally level-headed person like Hermione. She wondered what secrets he could have hidden in his basement.

There was a light switch on the wall, but of course, the electricity in the house wasn't in use. There were some things that wizards did that didn't make much sense to the practical Muggleborn witch. What was so bad about electricity that wizards couldn't use it?

Hermione used her wand, lit at the tip, to guide her down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she glanced back up at the open door, shedding dim light down a portion of the stairs. The floor and walls were stone, much like the dungeons at Hogwarts, but they were badly cracked. It was clear no one had been down here for years.

She started looking around. In the one corner was a table with some flasks and a cauldron. Bottles of potions and ingredients sat long forgotten on the table and on the couple of shelves above.

Intrigued, Hermione went to the makeshift laboratory. It was clear that Severus - or perhaps his mother - had used the area at one time. She could imagine a younger version of Severus spending his time at that very table, if only to escape his father.

As she continued her exploration of the basement, she saw nothing of interest. There was the usual ancient furniture most people kept in their basements when they should have thrown it away. There were a few boxes and crates, which was also typical of what one might find in a basement.

Sitting on top of one of the boxes was a book, though. Hermione's interest peaked again, and she went to it, gingerly picking it up. It was covered in dust.

After wiping most of the dust off, Hermione could see that this book wasn't just a plain book. It was a photo album.

_Severus's life._

Just like venturing into the basement without his permission, she knew he probably wouldn't be happy to know she was about to look at pictures of his childhood, but her curiosity was peaked, and she already had the book in her hands.

Since the lighting was so poor in the dank basement, Hermione decided to return to the main floor. After ascending the stairs, she turned around one last time and gazed into the depth of the basement. Nothing but blackness returned her stare.

She closed the door securely and sauntered to the living room, where she took a seat on the worn couch. She regarded the photo album carefully, gingerly running her fingers along the spine and over the front cover. She traced each engraved letter of his name, as if the book were sacred.

It was sacred to her.

Hermione had always loved books and had taken great care with them. Dog-earring pages and marking in the margins and bending the book so far that it broke the binding were the equivalent of mortal sins to Hermione. So now, the book she had in front of her, being the object it was and containing information and pictures of the man she loved and admired, was a sacred thing indeed.

Finally, she opened the album. The first picture she saw was one of Eileen Prince Snape holding Severus as a newborn. The mother had a proud smile on her plain face as she gazed down at the small baby wrapped in blankets. Next to the picture was an announcement from the _Daily Prophet,_ an exact copy of the one Hermione had read herself a year earlier when she had done research on the Half-Blood Prince.

Hermione frowned, wondering where Severus's father was. Why wasn't he in the picture, celebrating the birth of his only child? Of course, Hermione knew what the man had been like, how he had detested magic and had been abusive and an alcoholic. Could the man have already resented his son so soon after his birth?

Turning the page, Hermione found more baby pictures. Severus was a little older in them, ranging from probably a couple months old to eight or nine months. When he was an older baby, he was almost constantly smiling. His hair was black and had started thickening at an early age. His dark eyes were filled with an innocence she no longer saw in them. As Hermione watched him crawling, rolling over, sitting up, eating, and playing in the pictures, she couldn't help but to find him an adorable, lovable baby.

Then, from nowhere, Harry's words from over a year earlier came to the forefront of her mind. He had said the Snapes had given birth to a murderer. Hermione wanted to cry.

_That's the farthest thing from the truth. In spite of Severus's dark past, there was no way even Harry could have looked at these pictures and thought this sweet child would grow up the way he did._

Turning the page again, Hermione found pictures of Severus as a toddler. He was walking and giggling and jabbering unheard words. Hermione wished wizarding photographs had sound connected to them in addition to movement. She wondered what he sounded like as a child. She laughed to herself, trying to imagine the baritone voice she was so used to once having been squeaky.

She continued to flip through the book, stopping for several minutes after every page turn to observe Severus as he grew older. She watched as his hair grew, finally stopping at his shoulders by age three or four and being kept that length for the rest of his life. She noticed the baby fat on his face thin away by the time he was five or six, and he already had the look of someone who never had enough to eat.

One very evident thing Hermione noticed as well was that, the older Severus got, the more sullen and withdrawn he appeared. He smiled less and avoided looking directly in the camera. On most occasions, he was alone in the pictures. Hermione had seen only two pictures with Tobias Snape in them, and the man looked unhappy, almost angry, to be having his picture taken. There were no pictures of Severus playing with other children.

None of this was surprising to Hermione, unfortunately. She knew what his childhood had been like. If she could, she would have literally reached for the little boy inside those pictures and raised him as her own. If she could have travelled back in time, she would have found a way to make him happy.

What if... what if... what if...

In spite of his horrible beginning, however, he had still managed to rise above all the barriers that had held him back.

Hermione focused on the pictures again, finally coming to one that no doubt was an eleven-year-old Severus ready to leave for Hogwarts. He was wearing the school robes and had a bag full of books on one side and a trunk with his clothes and other belongings on the other side. For once, he was smiling. He was looking forward to the opportunity to prove himself and to finally have friends.

_A damn shame that didn't happen,_ Hermione thought sadly.

After that picture, the photos were more sporadic. Christmases and summers off from school were the only time Severus would have spent with his family. By the time he was probably sixteen, there were no longer any pictures. Several blank pages remained, and Hermione sighed, closing the book.

Just like the empty pages of the photo album, there had been a period of Severus's life that he had refused to elaborate much upon. He was ashamed of his Death Eater days to the point of near denial. Hermione wished she had known him when he had been younger, but the more rational part of her mind knew that he wouldn't have been open to her back then. She counted it as mostly luck that she had come to know him as well as she did now.

Hermione looked at the clock and realized she had wasted away the better part of the day with the album. Well, "wasted" wasn't the right word for it, as that was hardly how she felt. She was hungry and decided to prepare herself lunch, even though it was later than she normally ate.

After lunch, she spent the rest of the afternoon tidying up the house and reading. When the clock read five, she closed her book and went to the kitchen, intent on making dinner.

A little after six o'clock, the front door opened. Severus entered the house and immediately smelled dinner. He was tired from an intensive day of work and was hungry, too.

"Something smells good," Severus said, announcing his presence as he entered the kitchen.

Hermione smiled. "Dinner is finished." She walked to him, kissing him. "How was your day?"

"It has just greatly improved," he remarked, surveying the kitchen for dinner and then looking intently into Hermione's eyes. "I hadn't expected a beautiful woman and dinner when I returned home."

Hermione blushed. "Why would I have left?"

He shrugged. Hermione noticed a somewhat closed expression on his face now and wondered if anything had happened at work. He seemed in a reasonably good mood, all things considered, but he had mentioned his day was "greatly improved" upon coming home.

A minute later, they were at the small table, which only had two chairs, and dinner was before them. Hermione had made lasagna. The meal started out silent, and Hermione found herself watching Severus as he devoured the meal.

"Did you eat lunch or even breakfast?" she asked.

"Hardly," he grunted in between bites. "I have never eaten a large breakfast, only toast and coffee, and I am given fifteen minutes to eat lunch."

"Fifteen minutes!" Hermione gasped. "And they have you working ten hour days, six days a week? That's unlawful, not to mention cruel and unfair."

Severus grimaced. "Well, I suppose the general rules don't apply to people like me."

"People like-" Hermione stopped, enraged at what she was hearing. "Was work that horrible, then?"

"It wasn't a walk in the park, if that's what you mean. I've been through worse."

When he wouldn't elaborate more, Hermione returned to finish what was left on her plate. She didn't think forcing him to talk about work would help.

As she picked up her plate and took it to the sink, she thought, _He'll tell me in his own time._

When she felt Severus's presence right behind her, she said, "At least tomorrow is your day off."

He made a noncommital noise and placed his dirty dishes in the sink. Hermione knew he had walked away, but she decided to clean up first, which wouldn't take long with the use of magic.

After she was finished, she retired to the living room, where she found Severus lounging on the couch. At first, she thought he was asleep, but he opened his eyes when she drew nearer. She watched as his eyes shifted to the coffee table, where the photo album was resting.

"Did you enjoy seeing pictures of me from my pathetic youth?" he sneered.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. "I- I didn't mean to intrude," she stammered. "I was down your basement and-"

"Oh? You were also down my basement without my permission?" Severus inquired, clearly irritated.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, rushed, bringing her hands in front of her in a placating gesture.

Severus sat up on the couch, watching Hermione as she carefully took a seat across from him in one of the chairs.

"What? Are you afraid to sit next to me now?" he ground out harshly.

"Severus, please," Hermione pleaded. "I didn't mean to be nosy. I'm sorry, I am. I was by myself and didn't have anything in particular to do, and I know I shouldn't invaded on your privacy like that, but I wanted to know you better. When I saw the photo album, I wanted to look through it because I wanted to see what the man I love looked like as a child. I'm glad I did, too. You were a sweet little boy."

Severus had no words. Could he blame her? Well, yes, he could blame her for intruding, but Hermione wasn't like everyone else in his life. If there was one person for whom he could (and would) make concessions, it was Hermione.

"I was not sweet," Severus muttered surlily.

Relieved he had calmed down, Hermione left the chair and sat next to him on the couch. "Oh, but I disagree," Hermione said gently. Placing a hand on his forearm, she idly traced the folds in the material of his robe sleeve. "You can't change my opinion of you, even if you try." She moved closer, bringing her other hand to the back of his neck. She played with his hair a little, gently prodding his face forward.

Severus couldn't stay upset with her if he tried. Sighing, he said, "Well, I suppose I can make this one exception... for you. Only you," he added sharply.

They locked each others' gazes. His was smouldering and intense. Hers was daring and equally intense. Surrendering to the inevitable, their gazes unlocked as they closed their eyes simultaneously and locked lips instead.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

August seemed like it had just started, and now it seemed like it was ending far too quickly. As Hermione looked out the window of her flat one evening of the waning month, the realization struck her that the days were noticably growing shorter each day. The long, warm days of summer that stretched themselves for days on end were now over, and the first signs of autumn were in the air.

As the sun set, she sighed, wondering what September would hold. That would have normally been the time she would have returned to school, but Harry, Ron, and she had all decided returning to Hogwarts would be too strange after being away for a year. Not only would they all be a year older, but they had fought in a war, had gone on a lengthy and dangerous quest for the Horcruxes, and had seen the horror of death too closely to ever be the same again.

Simply put, they weren't children any longer.

Hermione was anxious to start the accelerated program offered by the Ministry. By Christmas, she was hoping to take her N.E.W.T.s and pass them and then train for a career. With spending Monday through Friday at the Ministry taking classes with a select few students, she wondered if she would have the chance to see Severus.

Also, would she be able to afford her flat come September? Even if she did continue working at the bookstore on weekends and some evenings, she doubted she would have enough income to afford even her small, humble abode. If she wasn't returning to Hogwarts, she wouldn't be staying in a dormitory, so that left only one option: She would have to move back in with her parents.

Hermione wasn't happy with that prospect. While she loved her parents and would visit them occasionally, she felt like it would be taking a step back if she had to move back in with them. She had essentially lived on her own for over a year now... and had even slept outside many times during the hunt for the Horcruxes. She was a survivor and a fighter, not a young girl who needed to run back to her parents when times proved difficult.

She laughed grimly to herself. She had survived far worse!

_Maybe I could manage a couple more months here... if I worked both Saturday and Sunday and three nights a week, but..._ She faltered in her thoughts, frowning. It was bad enough that she would be spending most of her time cramming for the N.E.W.T.s. She highly doubted she would have any free time if she worked.

_And that would mean not seeing Severus,_ she finished her thought, clearly not pleased.

Her last thought would not even be an option, then. Heaving a great sigh, Hermione decided she would turn in her key at the end of the month and give up her flat. She figured with only five days left before the end of the month, she had better start packing.

Hermione headed toward her bedroom, intent on doing just that, when she realized that she had been home from work for over an hour and had wasted time lost in her thoughts. Severus had gotten off work before her today, and he was probably wondering when and if she was going to stop by.

_I can pack later,_ she convinced herself easily. Seeing Severus would be a much better way of spending the remainder of her evening.

Hermione locked up and Disapparated from within the walls of her flat, appearing near some bushes a couple blocks away from Spinner's End. In the gathering darkness, she glanced at the old mill, standing like a morbid watchtower in a graveyard of dilapidated houses in the night. She heard the running brook nearby as she made her way toward her destination and felt the chill in the air. Yes, autumn was definitely right around the corner.

When she finally arrived, she knocked on the door. She didn't have to wait long. Severus opened the door and scrutinized her as she stepped in.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would come," he stated, sounding grumpy.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized hastily. "I had to work later than usual, and I meant to return home for a short time before coming over. I got lost in my thoughts, and well, that's my lame attempt at an excuse." She offered him a weak smile.

"Better late than never," he murmured, walking into the living room and sitting down.

He wasn't being rude. They had simply become so familiar with one another than the formalities of receiving a visitor didn't apply anymore. Hermione followed him and sat next to him on the couch. She was glad when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her closer.

"Rough day?" she enquired casually, but still visibly concerned.

"Yes," he sighed. "What else is new, though?"

She shrugged, having no words to offer. In the past month, Severus had grown accustomed to his new life, and even though it was physically draining, the work was mundane and brainless. When he actually thought about it, working for the Ministry wasn't as taxing as working at Hogwarts had been. There were no dunderhead students to deal with, no marking of poor essays (which would have served better for wiping one's backside than anything), no patrolling halls late at night, and no spy duty. Still, however, without any mental stimulation, Severus longed for Hermione's company, and when she was unable to visit, which was rare, he missed her sorely. She was the only person he knew who was intellectually his equal.

After a few minutes of silence, Severus ventured, "I suppose to ought to be polite and ask you how your day was."

"It was fine," Hermione said, smiling at his attempt to ask about her day. _He didn't actually ask, though, at least not in the form of a question._ "I realized that my classes start next week, and that means less time to work... and that means... I can't afford my flat."

Severus heard the disappointment in her voice. He couldn't blame her. She had proven herself more than capable of living on her own at the ripe age of eighteen.

"So," she continued, "I guess that leaves me one option: move back in with my parents."

Raising an eyebrow, Severus asked, "And why would you think that's your only option, my dear?"

Puzzled, Hermione furrowed her brow. "Because it is, Severus."

"Hmmm," he said, feigning thoughtfulness, "you have another option, you realize."

Hermione turned to see his face, wondering what he was playing at. "Oh?"

"You could live with me," he stated, although his voice sounded hesitant. "That is, if you want to," he added quickly.

Hermione was touched by the offer, but also stunned. "You don't have to- I mean, if you don't really want to, I would understand. Don't feel obligated-"

"If you misunderstand my hesitation," Severus clarified, flushed, "I mean to say that I would love it if you would consider. I simply meant that I didn't want _you_ to feel obligated if you didn't want to. I would understand."

There was a hopeful gleam to his dark eyes than Hermione couldn't look away from. He had her captured, not only by his gaze, but by the heart. "I would love to, Severus," she finally said lovingly. "In fact, I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be than with you."

Feeling very warm inside all of a sudden, Hermione blushed and looked away. Her admission had been the answer he had been waiting for. They had moved to a new level of intimacy.

Severus, for his part, felt like his heart would leap right out of his chest with joy. He squeezed her tightly, making his satisfaction evident, but inside, he was like a child at Christmas. He hadn't felt so happy since the night they had first made love.

"It's settled, then," he stated. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Hearing the almost playful tone in his voice, Hermione giggled. "Well, I'm glad you asked, Severus, because I certainly wasn't about to ask if it was okay to just move right in."

"To be honest, I wouldn't have minded if you had," he admitted.

Although those words were the ones Hermione wanted to hear, she was still somewhat surprised. Severus was a very private man, and even though she was closer to him than anyone, she wasn't about to start assuming that taking certain concessions would be all right with him.

When she remained silent, Severus asked, "When can you move in? I will help you with anything, you know."

"Well, you have to work tomorrow, and I don't think trying to move in the evenings during the week would be a good idea. You're tired enough as it is-"

Severus shot a glare at her. "I'm not _that_ tired when I come home from work, Hermione," he argued. "You talk about me as if I'm an old man. Of course, maybe to you I am."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione adamantly continued, "As I was saying, the weekdays aren't good... for either of us. I have to work as well. Luckily, I have Sunday off, and since Sundays are your only days off, we'll move my stuff come Sunday. That also conveniently happens to be the second last day of the month, so I can turn my key in and be done with it."

Severus frowned a little. "You expect me to wait four days for you?" he asked, although in a teasing manner.

"You and I can wait four days, yes," Hermione said. _But I wish I could move in tomorrow._

x x x x x

Four days passed quickly. On Sunday, August 30, Severus arrived with Hermione at her flat. He had never been there before and was surprised to find it nearly empty.

"I assume you didn't have many things to move to begin with?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said with a shrug as she placed some clothes in a box. "I transfigured the few pieces of furniture I needed, seeing as I couldn't afford to buy anything, and I didn't know how long I would be living here, anyway. I guess it's a good thing I didn't buy a whole living room and bedroom set. Where would we have put them in your house?"

Snorting, Severus said, "My house could probably use new furniture." He began shrinking some boxes, so they wouldn't have to make as many trips.

"We can fix up your house and make it a home in time, Severus," Hermione murmured. "You didn't spend much time there when you were at Hogwarts ten months of the year, and you were teaching for, what, sixteen years?"

"Don't remind me," he groaned.

Choosing to remain silent, Hermione closed the box, satisfied that it was the last one. She took some of the spelled-smaller boxes and said, "Shall we?"

"Yes."

With some boxes in their pockets and hands, they both Disapparated and Apparated directly into Severus's house. They made three more trips, and everything was moved by then.

Appearing one last time in Hermione's almost ex-flat, they checked the rooms one last time.

"Are you sure you have everything?" Severus questioned.

"Yes, positive," affirmed Hermione. Glancing around the now completely empty flat, she realized she was saying goodbye to this place.

"I know it sounds odd," she murmured softly, "mostly because I didn't live here long, but it feels strange to be leaving."

Was that a tinge of sadness Severus heard in her voice? Moving to her side, he wrapped his arms around her middle and drew her close. "You're not having any last minute regrets, are you?"

Hermione heard the hesitation in his voice. "No, Severus, of course not. Don't be ridiculous. It's just- this was the first place that I could truly call my own. As happy as I am to be moving in with you, I feel like I'm leaving my old life behind."

Unsure of what she fully meant by her words, Severus frowned. He had left his old life behind on more than one occasion. His world had been turned upside-down and inside-out, and he had survived.

"You don't mean to say that living with me is a scary prospect, I hope? You have faced more than most your age."

Hermione turned to face him. "I'm not scared," she stated evenly. "It's just new territory for me. I love you, and you know that. Living together will test our relationship, you realize."

"Silly girl, of course I realize that. I would be a fool if I didn't. But I believe any... difficulties we face will be worth it. If you can manage to deal with my irritable moods every morning, which you have already seen before, I think we'll be fine." Severus managed a smirk.

"You're horrible, you know that?" Hermione asked, giving in and playfully smacking him on the arm.

"So I've been told," he said dryly.

Sobering, Hermione said her goodbyes to her old flat, and together, they Disapparated, intent on starting a new life together.


	22. Chapter TwentyOne

Chapter Twenty-One

Now that Hermione was living with Severus, she had to grow accustomed to a new schedule. She had not yet told her parents about moving in at Spinner's End, and seeing as her entire day was free, for today was the last day of August and school started tomorrow and Severus had to work, she decided she had best pay them an overdue visit.

After seeing Severus off, Hermione spent the rest of the morning tidying up the house more. She imagined the house sparkling with life in a way it hadn't in years, but unfortunately, several weeks would pass before that happy time.

After finishing the cleaning, Hermione decided to leave for her parents' house. On Mondays they worked in the morning only.

She Disapparated from the living room and reappeared in the bushes in her parents' backyard. She smiled to herself as she took in the familiar surroundings. It had been too long since she had been here. Although the yard was small, Mrs. Granger's obvious love for gardening was seen in every corner and all along the fence. In the late summer sun, the flowers greeted Hermione with a vast array of colors, from violent reds to deep purples.

The Grangers, being dentists, earned a lot of money, but they didn't boast a huge house. Their home was of moderate size: a two-story colonial with four bedrooms and a two-car garage.

As Hermione walked across the yard to the back door, she hoped her parents would take well to her decision. Butterflies grew in her stomach as she rapped on the door.

Seconds later, Hermione's mum opened the door. The older woman hadn't known who to expect, and when she saw her only daughter, she beamed.

"Hermione, darling!" she exclaimed, pulling the young lady into the house as she rapturously hugged her.

"Hi, Mum," Hermione said, smiling and returning the embrace. The anxiety of what she was about to tell her parents and the happiness of seeing them again played with her insides in an unsettling way.

Mrs. Granger closed the door and invited her daughter to take a seat with her in the living room. "Your father will be just as thrilled to see you, Hermione," the older woman said as she bustled about, moving into the kitchen to retrieve the tea things.

"John!" Hermione's mum called. "We have a special visitor!"

From upstairs, Hermione could hear her father's voice reply, "I'll be down in a minute, Jane!"

Jane Granger returned promptly with a tray of three tea cups, a pot, and some biscuits on a small plate. Hermione offered her mother a smile as the older lady poured her a cup and offered it to her.

After pouring herself a cup, Mrs. Granger sat down, purely beaming, as she had been ever since opening the door. "Oh, it's so good to see you, darling. Tell me, how have you been? I've gotten your letters, and I'm happy to hear you're returning to school tomorrow."

Gazing across the coffee table at her mother, Hermione took in Mrs. Granger's features, much like her own. Hermione had inherited her mother's bushy hair, although her mum kept hers shorter.

"Well, it's not exactly like Hogwarts, Mum," Hermione explained, taking a sip of tea. "You know it's an accelerated program offered by the Ministry, as I told you, and-"

She paused just as Mr. Granger came down the stairs. The man immediately went to his daughter, and Hermione stood, hugging him. When the embrace ended, Hermione's father proceeded to say, "I heard we had a special guest, but I didn't know to expect you, Hermione. What a pleasant surprise this is!"

"It's great to see you, Dad. I'm sorry I haven't stopped by in so long. Things have just- well, been busy for me," she offered feebly.

"Hermione was just telling us about starting school with the Ministry tomorrow," Mrs. Granger told her husband.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Granger intoned. "I remember you mentioning that in one of your letters, Hermione. Anxious to finish your schooling so you can find a profession, eh?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, yes, you know me too well, Dad."

"That's our girl!" the proud father asserted.

Hermione's mother, on the other hand, had a pensive look on her face. "With going back to school, and since it's an accelerated program as you called it, dear, how are you going to have time to work and pay for your flat?"

"Uh, see... that's part of the reason I came," Hermione hesitated.

Both parents gave her quizzical looks, which urged her to continue. "I can't afford to stay in the flat, and in fact, yesterday... well, I moved out."

"To where?" Mrs. Granger asked. "Does the Ministry offer a place to stay like Hogwarts?"

"No," Hermione said slowly. "It doesn't." She glanced from her mother to her father, feeling guilty all of a sudden. _This is ridiculous,_ she mentally chided herself. _I love Severus, and I don't have to explain my feelings to anyone for justification._ She felt doubly ashamed for not telling her parents about the older man she had fallen in love with. She hoped they would understand, but deep inside the pit of her being, Hermione worried they would reject such a relationship as acceptable.

"Then where are you living, Hermione?" her father questioned frankly, raising an eyebrow, which Hermione found far too reminiscent of Severus.

"First of all," she stated, taking a deep breath, "please hear me out in my entirety. I've been seeing someone over the summer, and I'm in love with him."

Seeing where this was going, Mr. Granger asked, "So you're living with this guy, then?" Hermione could already hear the disapproval in his voice.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Anyone we know?" Mrs. Granger inquired. "Is it that nice young man who you always had a crush on in school? Ron?"

Blushing, Hermione shook her head. "No, Mum, it's not Ron."

"There was that young man you dated during your fourth year," her father murmured. "What was his name again?"

"Viktor," Hermione replied. "And no, not Viktor. You do know of him," she said carefully. "I've spoken about him before, although perhaps not in the best of terms."

"Someone from Hogwarts, then?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Why would you date someone who you haven't thought highly of?" Mr. Granger followed with a moment later.

Hermione's face was burning red now. "Yes, someone from Hogwarts," she stammered, "and circumstances have changed, Dad. There was a war, and everyone's lives were changed." She stopped, finally determined that she needed to simply state the truth. "I'm in love with Severus Snape, and before you ask, yes, he was my former professor. You heard me speak about him from time to time, and yes, he was a difficult teacher and is sometimes a difficult man, but he is a good man, and I love him."

The Grangers were stunned by this admission. "Your professor?" Mr. Granger insisted, clearly displeased. "Hermione, this is highly inappropriate. How old is this man, exactly?"

Mrs. Granger was concerned. "Hermione, I understand you having feelings for this man, but are you saying what I think you are? You've moved in with- with this much older man who is your professor... without even telling us?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione practically pleaded. "Really, Dad... Mum... I am. I should have told you about Severus. I just- I was afraid you wouldn't understand; you wouldn't approve. What's happening right now is exactly why I didn't tell you sooner. What's it matter how old he is? He's not even my professor anymore, so that's not an issue. For your information, he's younger than you both are."

Mr. Granger was still scowling. Shaking his head, he said warily, "Hermione, please try to understand. It's not that we don't trust your judgment. You have, after all, always proven to be very responsible for your age, but - and I think I speak for your mother as well when I say this - we wish you would have told us instead of keeping it a secret. Unless," he paused, "there is some deeper reason for your not telling us." He gazed at her questioningly.

Hermione thought of Severus's past, especially the moment he had killed Dumbledore last year. She had purposefully kept her parents in the dark on many occasions about the goings-on in the wizarding world because she didn't want to worry them. She knew they were Muggles and didn't have access to many of the things involving magic, and they probably wouldn't have understood. The older she grew, the more she realized the chasm separating her from her parents was growing.

"No," she half-lied. She wasn't keeping from them the fact that she loved Severus and that he was a good man, even though she knew others would argue that point with her. He was a good man, damn it.

"Very well," her father stated sternly. "When will we meet this young, er- not so young man?"

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "He's not even forty yet!"

"Oh, then I suppose that makes him a spring chicken, then," Mrs. Granger put in.

"Mum, Dad... really," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I- I don't know when you'll meet him. I'll have to discuss it with him first."

They nodded, although still not totally comfortable with the situation. A few awkward moments of silence followed, but then Mrs. Granger abruptly stood, forcing a smile onto her face. She picked up the tea tray and said brightly, quite forced, "Will you be staying for dinner, Hermione?"

x x x x x

Hermione discussed her visit with her parents with Severus that night, and although he didn't seem thrilled at the prospect of meeting them, he was willing. He knew it was important to Hermione, and when they had a free Sunday, the visit would be made.

The next day, Hermione started her classes at the Ministry. She was thankful to have Harry and Ron with her through most of them, as she knew the courseload was going to be a lot to handle. She immersed herself in classes and homework, just as she had at Hogwarts, but unfortunately, her evenings were spent occupied with assignments for her classes.

Severus was displeased with how much time Hermione had to dedicate to her schooling. While he fully supported her in her endeavors, he still had a longing to be with her whenever they were together at home. Living together and yet not spending much time together was an odd combination.

As the first week ended, Severus found himself desiring Hermione's company even more. She had made one of the unoccupied bedrooms into a study of sorts and had holed herself up there every evening, sometimes only coming out when the hour grew so late that she had to go to bed.

As Severus stood in front of the mirror in his room, he scowled at his image, which scowled right back. Ever since returning to brewing potions, his hair had taken on the trademark limp, greasy appearance it had at Hogwarts.

_Damn potions,_ he thought sourly. _If I desire the girl so much, I'm certainly not looking very appealing right now._

Not only was his hair a mess, but he looked worn and tired. His workload had increased at the Ministry, so he couldn't boast about his job not being too bad after all.

So, Severus took a shower and performed a drying charm on himself. His hair was clean and shiny again, the length several inches past his shoulders. He had taken to pulling it back at work, since it got in the way. Shoulder-length hair didn't have the unfortunate side-effect of touching the surface of a brewing potion, but hair his length did.

Going down the hall, Severus opened the door to the room Hermione was in just a crack and peeked inside. She was working diligently, writing furiously on a piece of parchment. Severus smiled in spite of himself and entered.

She hadn't heard him come in, being so caught up with her assignment. When Hermione suddenly felt two large hands on her shoulders, she jumped.

When she heard a baritone chuckle behind her, she groaned, "Severus, I'm trying to work..."

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her sensitive skin, sending tingles down her neck and spine. "Ah, but I have an idea to offer that wouldn't be nearly so taxing..."

Hermione gave in and felt a smile creep onto her face. "Well, tomorrow is Saturday, so I suppose..."

"Indeed, and I agree," Severus murmured contentedly. He led Hermione out of the chair, out of the room, down the hall, and into their bedroom. The door closed, and Severus finally had his desire fulfilled.


	23. Chapter TwentyTwo

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hermione's birthday fell on a Saturday that year. Because Severus had to work, and her parents wanted to meet him, it was decided that Hermione's birthday would be celebrated the following day. Everyone was free the entire day on Sunday, which gave Mr. and Mrs. Granger plenty of time to assess their daughter's boyfriend.

_Boyfriend,_ Hermione thought with a cringe.

As she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom that fateful Sunday morning, Hermione made a face of disgust at her reflection. "Boyfriend" sounded so juvenile. Severus was a man, not a boy, for heaven's sake!

After fiddling with her unruly hair for fifteen minutes, Hermione sighed in exasperation, surrendering to the fact that her hair surely had a mind of its own to be this uncooperative. She finally decided on simply pulling it back in a low ponytail at the base of her neck. These days she usually wore it that way, since she hardly had time to be concerned with how she looked - not that Hermione had ever been one to give much time to her daily regime in primping.

She was wearing Muggle clothes today, thinking that her parents would appreciate the gesture. As Hermione looked herself up and down one last time, she gave herself a half-hearted smile, trying to convince herself that everything would be fine.

She left the bathroom and went down the hall, entering the room that she shared with Severus. He was in the middle of buttoning his shirt when she came into the room. Well, he was _trying_ to button his shirt.

Glowering at the stubborn button, Severus picked up his wand and flicked it, making the shirt fasten itself. He glanced up at Hermione, scowling. "Damn things," he muttered. "And some people wonder why wizards don't wear Muggle clothing."

Hermione tried not to laugh, but shook her head, smiling ruefully. Severus was wearing plain black trousers and a black button-down shirt. He wouldn't have settled for anything besides black, of course.

"I think you look dashing," Hermione said, coming toward him and wrapping her arms around him from behind. Nuzzling his neck, she gently grazed the sensitive skin there and whispered into his ear, "You ought to wear Muggle clothing more often, love. It shows off your sexy body quite nicely."

Severus felt warm all of a sudden and tugged at the collar on the shirt. "Indeed," he murmured. "Well, you look lovely yourself, Hermione. It's not everyday that I would agree to wear Muggle clothing, but for you, I suppose it is acceptable."

He spun around, facing her, and caught her lips with his. "Remind me to celebrate your birthday properly when we return home this evening," he said, his voice heavy with velvety seduction.

Hermione giggled. "Severus!" she shrieked.

She heard a rumble of laughter erupt from within his chest. Severus held her close for a little while and finally sobered. "I suppose we ought to be going to your parents' house," he said.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, sighing. She looked up at him, locking his gaze. "Please promise me you'll be nice," she stated, almost in askance.

"Nice?" Severus inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Since when am I not nice?" he asked sardonically.

"You know what I mean," Hermione said, both playfully and seriously.

"Don't worry, my dear," he assured her. "I will be on my best behavior. I wouldn't want to give them the wrong impression, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't," Hermione said. "Trust me."

They Disapparated from Spinner's End to the Grangers' backyard. Once they arrived, Hermione swallowed nervously. She had been waiting for this day a couple weeks now, and while Severus had come to be more agreeable about meeting her parents than he had been initially, she was still worried they would have a confrontation that would only end badly. She knew Severus's short temper all too well, and she also was very familiar with how her parents felt about the whole situation of her being with an older man.

_I'm nineteen now,_ Hermione thought defiantly. _That's two years as an adult already in the wizarding world, and I've seen more than most people my age, witch or not._

When Hermione came out of her thoughts, she realized that Severus was staring at her. "Are you done trying to convince yourself this evening will turn out all right?" he asked, smirking.

"How did- ?" Hermione started to say, but then stopped herself. "Never mind," she muttered. Reaching for his hand, she said, "Come on, then. Let's go."

Severus allowed Hermione to take the lead. This was her territory, after all. He was merely a guest, and since this was a Muggle house, he was a bit out of his comfort zone. He had not had much experience around Muggle things since he was a youth, and unfortunately, thinking of Muggles made him recall his Muggle father, whom he disliked heavily.

Hermione knocked on the back door. After a couple of short moments, the door swung open, revealing Hermione's parents. Severus instantly recognized the traits Hermione shared in common with her mother.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed delightedly. "Hello, darling!" She hugged her daughter and then gazed upon Severus. "And you must be Severus," she said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Yes, Mrs. Granger," Severus smoothly replied. "A pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand, and Mrs. Granger awkwardly shook it.

"Do come in," the older woman continued.

Severus and Hermione stepped into the house, and the door was closed behind them, keeping the cool air from getting into the house. The nights were becoming noticeably colder as autumn wore on. Once inside, Mr. Granger extended his welcome to Severus.

"So, you are Severus Snape," Mr. Granger stated, eyeing the other man carefully. The two men shook hands, and Severus couldn't help but feel like he was being sized up and examined for any imperfections.

"Yes, I am he," Severus replied levelly. He felt like adding "And you must be Mr. Granger" in a sarcastic voice, but refrained. He had promised Hermione he would be on his best behavior, and he wasn't about to ruin the evening or give the Grangers any reason to think their daughter was with the wrong man.

Hermione glanced from her mother to her father and then to Severus. An unwieldly silence hung in the air for the next several moments until Mrs. Granger cleared his throat and said in a forced voice, "Well, dinner is nearly ready. John, why don't you see what Hermione and Severus would like to drink?"

John Granger gave his wife a slow nod, as if just coming to understand the request. Jane Granger flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile and turned on her heels, dashing into the kitchen a bit too hastily to be natural.

"Shall we, then?" Hermione's dad offered, motioning the guests toward the living room. Hermione managed a half-smile and nodded, reaching for Severus's hand, as if for support. Severus, for his part, didn't know if taking her hand would be the appropriate action to take in front of her parents, but he didn't want to make a scene, either, so he simply complied and allowed himself to be led into the other room.

Hermione sat down on the couch, followed by Severus. Mr. Granger was standing in the middle of the room, gazing down on them. "Would red wine be all right?" he inquired.

"That's fine with me. Severus?" asked Hermione.

Severus nodded. "That would be much appreciated, thank you, Mr. Granger."

Mr. Granger left the room to retrieve the wine, leaving Hermione alone with Severus for a minute. She reached for his hand again, but he pulled away. When she cast him a hurt look, Severus gave her a probing look back.

"I don't want your father to think we need to constantly have our hands all over each other," he hissed.

This shocked Hermione. "What-" she started to say, feeling betrayed, but then her father returned with two glasses of wine.

Hermione took the proffered glass and held it between both hands, trying not to appear flustered. What had Severus meant? They were hardly known for having their hands "all over each other"... "constantly." Taking a sip of the wine, Hermione forced her whirling thoughts to calm themselves. As the liquid made its way down her throat, she felt its warmth spreading, aiding in pacifying her.

_Severus is probably just as nervous... if not more so... than you are, Hermione,_ she thought. _Don't jump to conclusions._

She was brought back to reality when her father's voice asked, "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Realizing she hadn't been paying the least bit of attention, Hermione glanced up from her wine glass. "What's that, Dad?" she inquired.

"I was just telling Severus here that you were always striving to be the best at everything, but I'm sure he already knew that, considering he was your professor," Mr. Granger said pointedly, glaring at Severus.

"Yes, you are, in fact, correct, Mr. Granger," Severus replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. "Although... I tried not to give any one student special attention."

"Of course," Mr. Granger said knowingly. "According to Hermione, you were rather - How did she put it? - harsh on your students."

"Dad!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Not surprising you would have heard so," Severus said with a shrug. "My goal wasn't to be liked. It was to teach."

"And you aren't teaching now, correct?" Mr. Granger probed.

"You are correct, sir."

"And why is that?"

"Dad, really-" Hermione started to say, as she realized things were heating up between the two men. Just then, Mrs. Granger entered the room and announced that dinner was ready.

Hermione inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, glad for the distraction. She stood and headed toward the dining room, followed by Severus and her father. When everyone had taken their seats around the table, Hermione took in the lavish scene before her. Her mother loved entertaining and had certainly outdone herself with dinner. There was much more food than could possibly be consumed by the four people who were seated around the table. All the settings were just so. The centerpiece and the tablecloth matched perfectly.

"This looks lovely, Mum," Hermione couldn't help but remark. She smiled fondly at her mother.

"Thank you, Hermione," Mrs. Granger said, glowing. "I hope it meets your expectations." Here, she glanced at Severus.

The food was passed, and plates were filled. The meal had officially begun, and it passed smoothly, much better than the conversation in the living room. When everyone was finished, Severus said politely to Mrs. Granger, "It was delicious, Mrs. Granger. Just as Hermione thought it would be."

He looked at Hermione across the table with an intense gaze, and Hermione felt her cheeks turn hot. Mrs. Granger blushed at Severus's kind comment and went on tittering about how pleased she was that he had enjoyed dinner. She stood and began clearing the table, and Hermione knew it was her cue to help. In her house while growing up, it went without saying that she was to help her mother clean up after dinner.

While the women were in the kitchen cleaning dishes and putting the extra food away, the men retired to the living room. Severus felt his nerves acting up as he hoped Mr. Granger wouldn't begin with the probing questions again. Severus knew the older man was looking for a reason, any reason, to dole out his disapproval of the relationship he had with Hermione.

"Would you care for anything, Severus?" asked Mr. Granger nonchalantly. "A brandy, perhaps?"

"If it's not too much to ask," Severus replied stiffly.

"Of course not," the other man replied, going to the liquor cabinet.

He retrieved a bottle and two glasses and proceeded to pour the amber-colored liquid. After putting the bottle away, he handed Severus a glass in one fluid motion.

Severus grabbed it and took a sip. By Merlin, that stuff was strong! He felt the kick of the alcohol as the warmth moved down his throat.

"Good stuff, isn't it?" Mr. Granger inquired, sitting down.

Severus nodded, trying to clear his head. "Indeed, sir," he said.

Mr. Granger scrutinized Severus for a long moment, then remarked, "You're a man of few words, aren't you, Severus?"

"You could say that," Severus replied, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"Well, you seem like a nice enough man," Hermione's father said, "even though you have hardly told me anything about yourself. You see, normally when a young man meets the parents of the woman he loves, he usually tells them certain things. You know... his expectations, what he likes and dislikes, a bit about his background, and the like."

_Certain things?_ thought Severus uncomfortably. _I'm not about to tell this man my deepest secrets if that's what he is expecting._ Severus gave Mr. Granger a sour look and raised an eyebrow. "I am a private man, sir, but I will tell you that I have nothing but your daughter's best interests in mind. I would never do anything to jeopardize that, and I am sorry if you doubt my sincerity. You say that a 'young man' is to tell the father of the woman he loves 'certain things' about himself. Well, sir, as you can plainly see, I am not so much of a 'young man.' I have seen my fair share of things in life, enough to know a thing or two about what is honorable and what is deplorable. I trust you would have enough faith in your admirable daughter that she would not consort with the wrong type, at the very least."

Whatever Mr. Granger had been expecting to hear from the raven-haired man across from him, it hadn't been this. He had to admit that he was impressed.

Instead of elaborating, Mr. Granger simply smiled at Severus and said, "Call me John, Severus."

Severus half-smirked at the other man. "Very well... John."

The rest of the evening went by pleasantly. When the hour grew late and it was time for Severus and Hermione's departure, they left two proud parents at the door. After they returned to Spinner's End, Hermione gave Severus a puzzled look.

"What?" Severus asked.

"I'm still wondering what it was you told my father in the living room after dinner," Hermione implored.

Severus chuckled deeply and drew her to him. "Ah, but that is between your father and me, my dear. Suffice it to say that everything will be fine."

Hermione's curious mind wanted further explanation. Severus was being cryptic on purpose, and although a small part of her was annoyed by this, the greater part of her pushed it away and drew closer to the man she loved.


	24. Chapter TwentyThree

Chapter Twenty-Three

As Severus held Hermione against his chest, his mind began to wander. He still had to give his gift to her, and at that thought, his stomach flip-flopped. He swallowed thickly, causing Hermione to look up at him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, a hint of concern lacing her words.

"No, absolutely not," Severus said with a shake of the head. He forced himself to be composed and took her hand. "Let's get more comfortable."

"All right," Hermione readily agreed, allowing Severus to lead her up the stairs toward their bedroom.

Once there, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Severus to join her. When he remained standing longer than she expected, she felt something was wrong once again and was about to inquire further when he sat next to her. Hermione watched in silence as Severus took her hands in his. He was staring at their hands while he rubbed the tips of his fingers over her knuckles.

"Severus?" Hermione questioned. "Is something-"

"No, Hermione, nothing is wrong, trust me," he replied quickly, but his words sounded unsure. For a man who usually spoke with such confidence and conviction, Severus gave the impression that he was trying to persuade himself he was fine when the actual truth was far from that. He then inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly, as if trying to calm himself.

Whatever he was about to say, Hermione knew it was important. She felt her heartbeat increase, and trepidation crept, unwanted, into her mind. She hoped he wasn't delaying because of something _bad._ She longed to prompt him to tell her, whatever it was, right now. By acting in this unsettling manner, Severus might as well be dangling Hermione over a canyon of doubts and dread.

Hermione continued to observe as Severus released one of her hands from his. He reached into a pocket and withdrew something small, so tiny she couldn't see it. Whatever it was, Severus had it clutched tightly in his hand, in a death grip that almost scared Hermione. Then, she felt that small something being pressed into the palm of her free hand, and his hands were wrapped firmly around both of hers, which he had drawn together.

Hermione glanced up from their bound fists and into Severus's eyes. He was regarding her with a smouldering gaze, so deep and fervid. Finally, he found the words he desperately needed. "Hermione," he almost rasped. "You know how I feel about you, what you mean to me... that I love you more than anyone or anything sacred in this wayward world. And so, because- because of nothing short of this, I ask you to be my wife."

Severus unclasped her hands, and Hermione gazed down at her unfolding fist and saw a ring. She was speechless, her breath having evaded her for a second. When she turned her eyes back upon Severus's face, tears prickled in the corners of them. Everything in the background grew blurry, and time seemed surreal in that moment. A smile found its way onto her young face, and she beamed as wet saltiness spilled down her cheeks.

Holding onto the ring for dear life, as Severus had moments ago, Hermione flung herself toward him and embraced him with everything she had. As his arms wrapped around her and pulled her suffocatingly close, Severus heard her exuberant reply.

"Yes, yes, Severus! The answer is yes!"

A floodgate of emotions opened inside Severus, and he thought his heart might burst in joy as he buried his face in her hair and took in her lovely scent.

"Did I hear you correctly, love?" he choked into her hair. He couldn't get his mind around what had just happened. Had Hermione truly said she would accept his hand in marriage?

Hermione loosened her hold on him enough so she could look into his eyes. "You heard every word exactly as I uttered them, Severus," she said with utmost sincerity. "Yes." She made to kiss him, and although he seemed hesitant at first, his lips were soon massaging hers.

When they broke apart, Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face. "Are you all right, Severus?"

He half-smiled and replied, "Yes... please forgive me if I'm having a hard time digesting what has just transpired, Hermione. I never thought... in all my life... that someone would-"

"Want you?" she asked gently, sadness and compassion evident on her features.

He nodded reluctantly, afraid to meet her gaze. Hermione brought a hand to his cheek and stroked it a couple times, then tilted his head up, kindly forcing him to look at her.

"Believe it, Severus," Hermione said ardently. "Believe it."

Bringing one of his larger hands to his face, he took her hand in his and turned it over, laying a kiss on it. He found the courage to smile softly and murmured, "I believe it."

x x x x x

The weeks that followed after Hermione's birthday passed in a whirlwind. Autumn had come in its full glory, and as October progressed, the leaves lost their vibrant greens and greeted the world with fiery reds, deep oranges, and golden yellows. The amount of time the sun graced the landscapes of England with its life-giving rays shortened, now less than half the day long. The winds picked up in their ferocity, and cold rain pelted rooftops many nights.

In all this time, Severus and Hermione were lost to the blasé routine of daily living. Severus came to tolerate his work, even though he loathed many of his coworkers, mostly due to their inanity and inferior intelligence. It was no wonder the Ministry was so behind in its research.

Meanwhile, Hermione buried herself in her schoolwork. By mid-December, her friends and she would be taking their N.E.W.T.s. As Halloween rapidly approached, her anxiety grew, knowing that she had less than two months until her schooling would be finished.

One day after classes were over, Hermione decided to stay and have a mid-afternoon lunch with Harry and Ron. She knew she had been neglecting her friendships lately, so this was a long-overdue get-together.

"Can you believe N.E.W.T.s are right around the corner?" she asked her friends as they sat at the table, waiting for their food.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Hermione," Ron replied sarcastically. "Why are you so worried?"

"Worried? I'm not worried," she said, completely unconvincingly.

Harry smiled at her, shaking his head ruefully. "Right, Hermione. You always obsessed over exams at Hogwarts, thinking you were going to fail, but you always got the highest score."

Hermione decided not to argue the point further. As a lull on the conversation began, the food came, which thankfully distracted the boys for the next several minutes. Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her food, wondering if she should tell Harry and Ron about Severus's proposal. Despite the fact she had been with him for several months now, neither of her oldest friends wanted to hear about her relationship with their hated ex-professor.

Thinking she would put it out of her mind for the time-being, Hermione was surprised when Ron asked her how her birthday had been.

"Well... that was, what, over a month ago now, Ron," Hermione said with a frown. "You didn't think to ask about it sooner, so why all of a sudden?"

Ron looked affronted. "Sorry, 'Mione. You haven't exactly given us much of your time lately. You've been spending it all with that git."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, enraged he had the audacity to refer to Severus in that way. "Take that back." As an afterthought, she added, "And should either of you speak of Severus in a derogatory manner again in my presence, I'm leaving this table."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Ron hastily apologized.

"So, what _did_ you do for your special day, Hermione?" prodded Harry, trying to clear the air.

"Severus and I visited my parents," she said truthfully. "It was the first time they met, and surprisingly, it went over quite well. After that, we returned home."

"You're calling Snape's house your home now?" asked Harry incredulously.

When Hermione fixed him with a warning glare, Harry sighed. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything offensive. I was just taken by surprise, is all."

Hermione relented and nodded. "Yes, Harry, his home is now our home, especially since... well..." She paused, knowing she should tell them. "Sevrusaskmetomarim," she blurted.

"What?" both boys asked, utterly confused.

With a great sigh, Hermione tried to calm her nerves and repeated, much slowly, "Severus asked me to marry him."

Again, she was met with a "What?" Only this time... it was mingled with revulsion and hatred.

"Don't either of you _dare_ question me on this," Hermione admonished. "I'm not under any spell, nor have I lost my mind or anything of the sort. I assure you that when I answered yes to his proposal, it was with complete truth and sanity, because I love him, regardless of your opinions on the matter."

"Wow, Hermione," Ron said, still trying to acclimate himself to the idea of Hermione marrying Severus. "Well... if you're happy, then... all right."

While Ron conceded, Harry remained silent. When Hermione looked at her friend's face, she was shocked by what she found. Harry's normally relaxed features were pressed into a stony-expression. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes stared with fierce resolve directly at her.

When Hermione stopped to consider Harry's past regarding Severus, her initial shock disappeared. "Harry, I'm sorry if-" she stopped, not knowing what to say. How could she expect her green-eyed friend to be suddenly accepting, when she knew that, despite recent events that proved otherwise, Harry still harbored deep feelings of resentment where Severus was concerned?

Finally, Harry released a sigh. "Hermione, I trust your judgment, even though it's difficult for me to fathom what you see in that... man. You don't have to try and argue on his behalf. If you're happy, that's what matters to me. I just hope he treats you right."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Harry, for understanding." She turned to Ron and thanked him likewise.


	25. Chapter TwentyFour

Chapter Twenty-Four

As is the trend with the passing of every year, autumn died away as the last brown, dried leaves fell to the barren earth, and the ground grew hard with the looming frost and the biting cold air. At the heart of the heavens, winter stirred and was awakened once again, opening its eyes and brushing off the dust that fell as snowflakes, covering greys and browns with a white linen of sparkling purity.

On this particular December day, Hermione stepped outside in the early hours of the morning. She was bundled up to the fullest extent, filled with a warm feeling at the very core of her being, and still trying to come to terms with what was true - that she was now done with her schooling forever, that she had taken her N.E.W.T.s just last week and passed with flying colors, that her future was now fully ahead of her, unknown, uncertain, but exciting with potential and prospect.

As she looked up and down the street, she realized she was the only soul outside, not surprisingly. The air was stagnant, and there was barely any sunlight due to the overhanging clouds. Not a sound was to be heard. In such solitude and stillness, the world seemed at peace. For Hermione, she felt at peace within with utmost certainty.

Even if she wasn't a witch and didn't know about magic, she would have sworn there was magic in the season. Times like the moments she was basking in presently were so seldom - or seldomly sought - that when they occurred, there was an almost holy reverence to be observed within their quickly fleeting footsteps.

For the next several seconds, she closed her eyes and remained that way. Inhaling and exhaling, she felt all worries vanish. When she opened her eyes, she allowed herself the small pleasure of taking in all that was before her yet again. Eventually, the chill began to creep through the fabric of her clothing, so she turned and went back inside.

In the few months she had lived there, Spinner's End had undergone many small transformations, culminating into the final product. The worn, shabby house had become a home, like a true Cinderella story. Despite the house's age, it was now well cared for, and the old floor boards and woodwork gave the house character, thought Hermione, which was something newer homes couldn't boast.

In a few more days, Christmas would arrive. Hermione loved Christmas. She had decorated the house a week ago and had insisted upon getting a live tree, much to Severus's dismay. While Christmas had always been a happy time for her, from her fond memories growing up with her parents to spending many Christmases at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron, it had not been for Severus. He refused to go into detail, but from what she knew about his past, she could well imagine what even his earliest Christmases must have been like.

Hermione spent much of the day looking through photo albums, reflecting on holidays past. The collection she had boasted both Muggle and wizarding photographs. She laughed and cried and everything in between.

As the days passed, Hermione felt her spirit grow. She counted down the days left until the Christmas, looking forward to being with her beloved that special day. Finally, Christmas Eve came. She dragged a half-reluctant Severus to her parents' house that evening. Much like the first time Severus had been in their company, John Granger asked probing questions, and Jane Granger fawned over whether or not her cooking was acceptable.

Presents were exchanged. Drinks were shared. Too much food to contemplate was consumed. It was with a great inward sigh of relief that Severus left with Hermione that night and headed home.

When Hermione entered their room just before going to sleep, she was greeted by Severus, who was stretched out on the bed, saying, "I will never understand what it is people find enjoyable about eating until they feel they might burst. If you ask me, having someone constantly pushing food down your throat and then insisting on you having more, only for you to feel bloated and sick the next several hours is _not_ my idea of a good time." He scowled deeply and kept his dark eyes on Hermione as she crossed the room and joined him.

She straddled him on the bed, leaning over him, and smiled sweetly. "What's wrong, Severus? Are you saying my mother is pushy about her dinners?"

He nodded sharply and refrained from elaborating further.

"You have nothing to worry about, dearest. You're thin as a rail."

"I know that," he said indignantly. "I wasn't concerned about that. I simply don't like being force-fed."

"You weren't force-fed," Hermione gently argued, although his disagreeable manner was starting to annoy her.

Severus harrumphed.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, removing herself from him and sitting next to him. She was beginning to become hurt.

"You know how I feel about Christmas," Severus murmured, refusing to look at her.

Hermione felt her heart drop and her throat tighten. She moved toward him again and cupped his cheek with her hand, steadily making him look at her. "Listen to me, Severus," she said softly. "You will never have to live another sad Christmas again. I'm sorry for what you had to go through for so many years, and if I could change that, I would, but... but I can't. What's passed has passed and is gone."

Severus shook his head. "None of it is gone," he whispered, almost inaudibly. "I still remember all those years like they happened yesterday, and sometimes... when I stop and think about my life, I can't help but wonder how I managed to wind up where I am today. I don't deserve you, Hermione. I don't deserve to be happy, and Christmas is just another reminder of all the bitterness I've harbored for so many years..." he trailed off, unable to continue.

Hermione reached for him with her other hand and took him in her arms, stroking his back in small, soothing circles. Over the time they had been together, his nightmares had still plagued him, and while he wouldn't usually talk about them, Hermione knew he kept much locked tightly inside. Just when she thought Severus was starting to get his life back on track and gain enough self-confidence to put the past behind him, he seemed to crash in front of her very eyes.

"Please, Severus," she said, her voice shaking, "you've got to stop beating yourself up like this. I'm sorry Christmas has caused you so much unhappiness, but this Christmas is different. You know you have me. I'm yours, entirely, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll make our own memories, and in ten, twenty, fifty, maybe even a hundred years, we'll look back on this first Christmas together and laugh."

"A hundred years?" Severus asked incredulously. He couldn't help himself. "I hate to think what I'll look like then."

Hermione giggled. "I don't think I'll look too good, either, but Dumbledore was, what, a hundred and fifty or something?"

"Was, yes," Severus muttered, looking away.

Hermione realized her folly and inwardly cursed herself. "I'm sorry for bringing him up," she apologized hastily. "I didn't mean-"

Before she could continue, Severus silenced her with a finger to the lips. "It's all right," he said with a sigh. "Thinking about Albus and his crazy Christmas gifts is perhaps one of the more fond memories I have," he added, shaking his head and allowing a small smile to creep onto his face.

They talked long into the night before falling asleep in each other's arms, and Hermione realized that Severus had come to terms with himself this Christmas. He hadn't said so in so many words, but she would recall years later how his mood had altered, lightened by her infectious spirit.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was greeted by the light of Christmas morning shining in through a crack in the curtains. The nearly blinding light was hitting her directly in the face, and with a wince, she sat up and went to the window, opening the drapes enough to peek her head through and see outside. A fresh coating of snow covered the trees, glistening in the sunlight. The houses down the street showed no sign of life yet, and the road and sidewalks were buried in several inches of the white stuff.

Hearing light snoring, she removed her head from the curtains and closed them, turning bemusedly and gazing upon Severus's slumbering form. He was sprawled out on the bed, the blankets and quilt in a disarray around him. Hermione smiled to herself. For now, she would let him sleep.

_Merlin knows the poor man doesn't get enough mornings to sleep in,_ she thought as she grabbed her robe and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Once there, she started the coffee and set to preparing breakfast. Although no premeditation on her part had taken place, the idea occurred to her presently of surprising Severus with breakfast in bed. With that thought in the forefront of her mind, and hoping he wouldn't awaken before she was finished with breakfast, Hermione hurried through the motions of getting everything ready. She made up two trays and levitated them up the stairs in front of her. Once she was in the room, she made sure both trays were gently and carefully placed on the nightstand and went to the bed to rouse Severus.

She kissed him on the lips, first lighly, then with more force, prodding him to wake up and respond. His lips were immovable at first, but then they began to return the kiss, increasing in intensity and passion. Before Hermione could stop, they were in a lip-locked battle.

When she finally pulled away, needing to get some air, Severus had his eyes fixed on her and rumbled, "Well, that was certainly a pleasant way to awaken in the morning."

"Good morning, Severus," Hermione intoned, beaming at him, "and happy Christmas, love."

Severus sat up in bed and blinked a couple of times, willing himself to fully wake. He returned the sentiments and glanced around, seeing the trays next to the bed. He cast her a quizzical look. "What are these for?" he asked.

"Breakfast," Hermione said simply. She handed one to Severus and took the other for herself, sitting next to him.

"Yet another unexpected surprise," Severus quipped, clearly pleased. "This may turn out to be a decent Christmas after all."

"Well, I hope it's more than just decent by the end of the day," Hermione said encouragingly. "Now, eat up."

Severus was immediately reminded of the previous day and glared at Hermione. She realized her mistake in word choice and said, "Er... you know what I mean. Sorry, I'm not forcing you or anything."

The glare lessened, and Severus focused his attention on the plate in front of him. The meal passed with minimal conversation, but in each other's presence, they didn't need words to express their gratitude and satisfaction.

After breakfast, Severus and Hermione took a shower together and dressed, although in their most casual and comfortable robes.

"Now what?" questioned Severus.

"Now we open presents," Hermione replied with a smile. Reaching for his hand, she led him downstairs.

Not only were there gifts for each other under the tree, but gifts from friends were there as well, delivered by owl. Hermione went through the gifts from her friends first, wanting to save Severus's presents for last. While Hermione opened gifts from Harry, Ron, and Ginny, he tried to keep from frowning. He hadn't expected anything from anyone, but a small part of him was jealous of the fact that Hermione had true friends who shared in the joy with her. He had never had that, until now. Watching Hermione's pretty smiling face and warm brown eyes, he realized he didn't need or desire anyone but her. She was his best friend, and even if she hadn't gotten him boxes of wrapped presents, just her being here would have been enough.

_More than enough,_ he thought, a pensive look on his face.

When Hermione had finished opening the gifts from her friends, she noticed Severus's expression. "Are you all right, Severus?"

"Yes, fine," he murmured. He grabbed one of his gifts for her and handed it to her. "Here, open it."

Hermione did so and was touched to find a locket inside. Severus explained that it had belonged to his mother, and he wanted her to have it, seeing as they would one day be wed. She threw her arms around him, thanking him profusely.

Hermione insisted on Severus opening her gifts to him next. She had gotten him some books and rare potion ingredients. He was difficult to shop for, but he was grateful for the effort on her part. They spent the next few minutes exchanging presents and were finally exhausted from the process of unwrapping. The living room was strewn with ribbons and paper by the end of it all, but spirits were bright indeed.

They spent the rest of the day together, enjoying each other's company and having a simple lunch and dinner. They didn't need fancy clothes or expensive food to have a good time, nor did they need to crowd of rowdy people around to liven the atmosphere.

As the day drew to a close, the couple was seated on the couch, with Hermione curled up close to Severus, warm in his arms. A crackling fire was burning before them in the grate, and they were both staring into the flames, entranced by their beatific dance.

Hermione felt a hand come to rest on her knee, and she diverted her attention from the fire and looked into Severus's searching eyes. She tried to read him, but as she lost herself in his deep, smouldering gaze, she found herself in seeing her reflection staring back at her, illuminated by the soft glow of firelight.

"You were right, as usual, when you said this Christmas would be different," Severus said huskily.

Hermione's lips quirked into a smile. He was simply so endearing to her! "I am glad," she replied. The response was plain, but what more could words express? Words failed miserably.

Hermione placed a hand behind his head and eased his face toward hers. Once again, they were lost in a world dominated by intoxicating love. Their passions grew, and they each one gave to the other the gift of themselves. Hours later, in the dim afterglow of the fire, their passions still burned, unaltered by the waning of the day.

Days die, as do flames in their last blinking feeble attempts at sparking back into existence, but love is kindled and rekindled by a deeper passion - a passion of the heart on fire.

That makes for a very happy Christmas, indeed.


	26. Epilogue

Epilogue

Hermione and Severus were married on July 31, 1999. It seemed appropriate to have their wedding a year after Severus's trial, marking the beginning of something good and moving forward from there. In the months that led up to the big day, Ron and Harry grew accustomed to the fact that Hermione was very much in love with their ex-professor, whom Harry still found reason to resent and dislike.

The wedding was neither large nor small. The people were there who were meant to be there, and that was all that mattered to Hermione. Severus would have settled for eloping, it being just the two of them, but Hermione's dream of having her family and friends present to witness her marriage to the man she loved had been something she had held precious since her childhood.

While there was nothing extraordinary about the day or the many days, weeks, and months that followed, the important thing is that life went on. Life was far from over for Severus Snape, and slowly, in the fullness of time, he had come to realize and accept that.

He had been given a life from the moment he had taken his first breath, and although his life had been lived in the darkness for close to forty years, with only glimpses of light, his life was filled with hope now.

Muggles have a saying about forty being "over the hill," as if to say that everything goes downhill after that age, but forty was a mere number. For wizards, who could live upwards of two hundred years, Severus was still quite young and therefore had many, many years of life ahead of him... all of which he intended to spend with his beloved Hermione.

Now, it being their first anniversary, Severus had reached the two year mark of his sentence. He would no longer need to work for the Ministry, doing their tedious assignments. The world was wide open, and possibilities seemed endless.

As the sun was setting on Harry's twentieth birthday, Hermione and Severus were taking a leisurely stroll down Spinner's End. Their house was probably the nicest one on the street now that it had been fixed up.

"What do you think the future holds for us, Severus?" Hermione posed the question.

"I cannot say, Hermione, love, and for now, all that really matters is having you by my side for the duration."

They stopped walking for a moment and turned to face each other. She smiled, looking up at him. "You've come so far, Severus."

"And I couldn't have done it without you," he said softly, meaning every word.

They kissed as the last ray of sunshine fell beneath the horizon. This moment, if it could have been captured in time, was sacred.

First, a broken man must be completely hollowed, left empty, but that vessel can then be filled to overflowing with everything good and worthwhile in life, and when he achieves this, his life, his core, his very soul is hallowed.

_The End_

Author's Note: Thank you, my dear readers, for sticking with me through this tale of love! I appreciate your readership and your reviews. Also, many, many thanks to my lovely beta-readers, Deb and Catie! You two have helped me so much through this endeavor! Although this story was completely my mind's wishful thinking of what I would have happen in the world of Harry Potter, that's okay. Like you, I eagerly await the arrival of book seven. Until next time, happy reading!

Sindie


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